After seeing Miss Bloodgood to her carriage Murgatroyd's thoughts were
in a maze of bewildering complexity. As a matter of fact, his peace of
mind was wholly gone; and it was with a far different feeling than any
he had heretofore experienced that he sought his down-town club for
luncheon. It chanced to be at a time when stocks were buoyant, and in
consequence the atmosphere of the dining-room was charged with
cheerfulness. But Murgatroyd was in no mood to join any of the various
groups lunching together; on the contrary, he took particular pains to
seat himself at a small table apart from the others, where he gave
himself up at once to a mental rehearsal of the scene in his office a
half hour ago.
Success at any cost! Yes, that was the way she had put it. Well, and why
not? Was not that the modern idea--the spirit of the age? And should he
hold a mere slip of a girl responsible for putting into words what every
woman thinks? Ridiculous!... And the United States Senate was her
conception of greatness! Ah, that was for Thorne! The organisation, the
brewers, the railroads, would send him there--buy him the job! Yes, her
friend Thorne would be a success, achieve greatness; while he, William
Murgatroyd, would be likely at the expiration of his present term of
office to find himself dead politically, become a cipher professionally
as well.
Presently the waiter brought his luncheon. None of the dishes suited
him; the servant was taken to task; the head-waiter was summoned; the
dishes were changed, and still they did not taste right. Finally
muttering to himself comments derogatory to the club's cuisine,
Murgatroyd pushed away his plate, lit a cigar and hastened out of the
building.
Lost in an abyss of depression he sank wearily into the seat at his
desk. It was thus that McGrath found him when he entered to announce
that he had brought down Pemmican.
Murgatroyd stared at him dully.
"Pemmican?" he repeated. "Who the deuce is Pemmican?"
"Thunderation!" burst from the lips of McGrath. "Why, your star witness
in the Challoner case!"
This brought Murgatroyd to earth.
"Well, don't bring him in," he said impatiently; "I'll ring when I want
you."
McGrath was dumbfounded. In fact, his astonishment at his superior's
evident disinclination to proceed immediately with the examination of
Pemmican was such that it came very near to making him forget that there
was another reason for his presence there.
"Another lady to see you, counsellor," said McGrath half-apologetically.
"It's Mrs. Challoner this time."
Murgatroyd looked up quickly.
"Mrs. Challoner! Why didn't you say so before? Show her in at once!" And
as that person came through the door Murgatroyd rose and went forward to
meet her, saying:--
"How do you do, Mrs. Challoner? If you had let me know that you wished
to see me, I should have been glad to call on you. What can I do for
you?"
For a moment Mrs. Challoner did not answer, but looked suspiciously
about to see whether any one else was present.
"Mr. Murgatroyd, I do not wish it to be known that I have come here,"
she began, as she dropped into a chair. She looked haggard, pale and
worn. Her manner, the tone of her voice, at once indicated to the
prosecutor that she was labouring under some suppressed excitement. It
was a situation not at all to his liking, and he watched her narrowly
while she proceeded:--
"I have come to see what can be done for my husband."
"Miss Bloodgood was here a short time ago on the same errand," he
observed, to put her at ease.
"Miss Bloodgood!" Amazement leaped into the young wife's tired, brown
eyes. "She did not tell me she was coming--but that's just like her--she
never tells half the good things she does. She's a friend--indeed,
Shirley's a good friend."
There was an embarrassing pause in which both were silent. Apparently
she was nerving herself to go on. Presently courage came, and she
said:--
"Will you tell me, please, what my husband's chances are?"
"Every man is supposed to be innocent until he is proven guilty.... But
first as last, I may as well inform you, Mrs. Challoner, that I can do
nothing, absolutely nothing for you. Your husband must stand trial!"
"Yes, yes, I know. But you don't quite understand. The man was not
himself. Surely you must know that! Let him live, Mr. Murgatroyd; he's
worth saving. Give him time--a chance. He'll be good--I shall make him
good. I have tried, and I shall continue to try all the harder...."
Murgatroyd sat motionless. His profile was toward Mrs. Challoner. It was
a clean-cut profile, and upon its contour there was no sign of yielding.
After a while he looked up and said:--
"I am very sorry for you, Mrs. Challoner, and I dislike intensely to
hurt your feelings. But do you realise that your husband ... shot this
man in a quarrel over----"
Mrs. Challoner quickly cut him short.
"That woman! What do I care for that! You don't know what my husband is
to me! I love him no matter what he has done. Besides, it was all my
fault. Let me tell you how it was. Laurie wanted money--his money was
gone--he had spent it all, and----"
Murgatroyd held up his hand.
"I cannot let you speak this way. You are simply supplying me with
evidence against him."
"And I refused him," continued the woman, too excited to hear what the
prosecutor was saying. "I hardened my heart against him--drove him from
home, and then--this dreadful thing happened."
"It would be dastardly in me to listen further. You are making your
husband's guilt more evident with every word. When Hargraves was found
he had been robbed of ten thousand dollars!" And with that Murgatroyd
rose as if to indicate that the interview was at an end. "There is
nothing I can do, Madam," he declared flatly; and then added: "There
never was but one way to cure a man like Challoner; it's too late now."
Minutes passed.... Murgatroyd watched her intently; but she did not
move: she sat rigid as if preparing herself for some ordeal yet to come.
All of a sudden her attitude changed. Mistrustfully she peered about her
once more, then leaning far over toward Murgatroyd, she whispered:--
"We are alone?"