REVELATIONS
For two days Anita wandered wraithlike about the great darkened house.
The thought that Ramon was keeping something from her--that he and her
dead father together had kept a secret which, for some reason, must
not be revealed to her, weighed upon her spirits. Conjectures as to
the unknown intruder on the night of her father's death, and his
possible purpose, flooded her mind to the exclusion of all else.
In the dusk of the winter afternoon she was lying on the couch in her
dressing-room, lost in thought, when Ellen, tapping lightly at the
door, interrupted her reverie.
"The minister, Miss Anita--the Rev. Dr. Franklin--he is in the
drawing-room."
"Oh!" Anita gave a little movement of dismay. "Tell him that I am
suffering from a very severe headache, and gave orders that I was not
to be disturbed by anyone. He means well, Ellen, of course, but he
always depresses me horribly, lately. I don't feel like talking to him
this afternoon."
The maid retired, but returned again almost immediately with a
surprised, half-frightened expression on her usually stolid face.
"Please, Miss Anita, Dr. Franklin says he must see you and at once. He
seems to be excited and he won't take no for an answer."
"Ramon!" Anita cried, springing from the couch with swift apprehension.
"Something has happened to Ramon, and Dr. Franklin has come to tell me.
He may be injured, dead! Ah, God would not do that; He would not take
him from me, too!"
"Don't take on so, Miss Anita, dear," the faithful Ellen murmured, as
she deftly smoothed the girl's hair and rearranged her gown; "the
little man acts more as if he had a fine piece of gossip to pass
on--fidgeting about like an old woman, he is. Begging your pardon,
Miss, I know he is the minister, of course, and I ought to show him
more respect, but he forever reminds me of a fat black pigeon."
The remarks of the privileged old servant fell upon deaf, unheeding
ears. Anita, sobbing softly beneath her breath, flew down to the
drawing-room, where the pompous black-cloaked figure rose at her
entrance. But--was it purely Anita's fancy or had some indefinable
change actually taken place in the manner of her spiritual adviser?
The rather close-set eyes seemed to the girl to gleam somewhat coldly
upon her, and although he took both her hands in his in quick,
fatherly greeting, his hand-clasp appeared all at once to be lacking
in warmth.
"My poor child, my poor Anita!" he began unctuously, but she
interrupted him.
"What is it, Dr. Franklin? Has something happened to Ramon?" she asked
swiftly. "Please tell me! Now, without delay! Don't keep me in
suspense. I can tell by your face, your manner, that a new misfortune
has come to me! Does it concern Ramon?"
"Oh, no; it is not Mr. Hamilton. You need have no fears for him,
Anita. I have come upon a business matter--a matter connected with
your dear father's estate."
Anita motioned him to a chair. Seating herself opposite, she gazed at
him inquiringly.
"The settlement of the estate? Oh, the lawyers are attending to that,
I believe." Anita spoke a little coldly. Had Dr. Franklin come already
to inquire about a possible legacy for St. James'?
She was ashamed of the thought the next moment, when he said gently,
"Yes, but there is something which I must tell you. It has been
requested that I do so. It is a delicate matter to discuss with you,
but surely no one is more fitted to speak to you than I."
"Certainly, Doctor, I understand." She leaned forward eagerly.
"My dear, you know the whole country, the whole world at large, has
always considered your father to have been a man of great wealth."
"Yes. My father's charities alone, as you are aware, unostentatiously
as they were conducted, would have tended to give that impression.
Then his tremendous business interests--"
"Anita, at the moment of your father's death he was far from being the
King of Finance, which the world judged him to be. It is hard for me
to tell you this, but you must know, and you must try to believe that
your Heavenly Father is sending you this added trial for some sure
purpose of His own. Your father died a poor man, Anita. In fact, a
bankrupt." The girl looked up with an incredulous smile.
"Dr. Franklin, who could ever have asked you to come to me with such
an incredible assertion? Surely, you must know how preposterous the
very idea is! I do not boast or brag, but it is common knowledge that
my father was the richest man in the city, in this entire part of the
country, in fact. The thought of such a thing is absurd. Who could
have attempted to perpetrate such a senseless hoax, a ridiculous
insult to your intelligence and mine?"
The minister shook his head slowly.
"'Common knowledge' is, alas, not always trustworthy. It is only too
true that your father stood on the verge of bankruptcy. His entire
fortune has been swept away."
"Impossible!"
Anita started from her chair, impressed in spite of herself. "How
could that be? Who has told you this terrible thing?"
"The unfortunate news was disclosed to me confidentially by your late
father's truest friends and closest associates. Having your best
interests at heart, they feel that you should know the state of
affairs at once, and came to me as the one best fitted to inform
you."
"I cannot believe it!" Anita Lawton sank back with white, strained
face. "I cannot believe that it is true. How could such a thing have
happened? They must be mistaken--those who gave you such information.
Father was worth millions, at least. That I know, for he told me much
of his business affairs and up to the last day of his life he was
engaged in tremendous deals of almost national importance."
"Might he not have become so deeply involved in one of them that he
could not extricate himself, and ruin came?" Dr. Franklin insinuated.
"I know little of finance, of course; and those who wished you to know
gave me none of the details beyond the one paramount fact."
"I know, of course, who were your informants," Anita said. "No one
except my father's three closest associates had any possible
conception of how much he possessed, even approximately, for he was
always secretive and conservative in his dealings. Only to Mr.
Mallowe, Mr. Rockamore and Mr. Carlis did he ever divulge his plans to
the slightest extent. A bankrupt! My father a bankrupt? The very words
seem meaningless to me. Dr. Franklin, there must be some hideous
mistake."
"Unfortunately, it is no mistake, my poor child. These gentlemen you
mention, I may admit to you in confidence, were my informants."
"You say they gave you no details beyond the paramount fact of my
father's ruin? But surely they must have told you something more. I
have a right to know, Dr. Franklin, and I shall not rest until I do.
How did such a catastrophe come to him? There have been no gigantic
failures lately, no panics which could have swept him down. What
terrible mistake could he have made, he whose judgment was almost
infallible?"
The minister hesitated visibly, and when he spoke at last, it was as
if with a conscious effort he chose his words.
"I do not think it was any sudden collapse of some project in which he
was engaged, Anita, but a--a general series of misfortunes which
culminated by forcing him, just before his death, to the brink of
bankruptcy. You are a mere child, my dear, and could not be supposed
to understand matters of finance. If you will be guided by me you will
accept the assurance of your friends who truly have your best
interests at heart. Their statements will be confirmed, I know, by the
lawyers who are engaged in settling up the estate of your father. Do
not, I beg of you, inquire too closely into the details of your
father's insolvency."
Anita rose slowly, her eyes fixed upon the face of the minister, and
with her hands resting upon the chair-back, as if to steady herself,
she asked quietly:
"Why should I not? What is there which I, his daughter, should not
know? Dr. Franklin, there is something behind all this which you are
trying to conceal from me. I knew my father to be a multi-millionaire.
You come and tell me he was a pauper instead, a bankrupt; and I am not
to ask how this state of affairs came about? You have known me since I
was a little girl--surely you understand me well enough to realize
that I shall not rest under such a condition until the whole truth is
revealed to me!"
"I am your friend." The resonance in the minister's voice deepened.
"You will believe me when I tell you that it would be best for your
future, for the honor of your father's memory, to place yourself
without question in the hands of your true friends, and to ask no
details which are not voluntarily given you."
"'Best for my future!'" she repeated, aghast. "'For the honor of my
father's memory.' What do you mean, Dr. Franklin? You have gone too
far not to speak plainly. Do you dare--are you insinuating, that there
was something disgraceful, dishonorable about my father's insolvency?
You have been my spiritual adviser nearly all my life, and when you
tell me that my father was a bankrupt, that the knowledge comes to you
from his best friends and will be corroborated by his attorneys, I am
forced to believe you. But if you attempt to convince me that my
father's honor--his good name--is involved, then I tell you that it is
not true! Either a terrible mistake has been made or a deliberate
conspiracy is on foot--the blackest sort of conspiracy, to defame the
dead!"
"My dear!" The minister raised his hands in shocked amazement. "You
are beside yourself, you don't know what you are saying! I have
repeated to you only that which was told to me, and in practically the
same words. As to the possibility of a conspiracy, you will realize
the absurdity of such an idea when I deliver to you the message with
which I was charged. Your father's partner in many enterprises, the
Honorable Bertie Rockamore, together with President Mallowe, of the
Street Railways, and Mr. Carlis, the great politician, promised some
little time ago that they would stand in _loco parentis_ toward you
should your natural protector be removed. They desire me to tell you
that you need have no anxiety for the immediate future. You will be
cared for and provided with all that you have been accustomed to, just
as if your father were alive."
"Indeed? They are most kind--" Anita spoke quietly enough, but with a
curiously dry, controlled note in her voice which reminded the
minister of her father's tones, and for some inexplicable reason he
felt vaguely uncomfortable. "Please say to them that I do sincerely
appreciate their magnanimity, their charity, toward one who has no
right, legal or moral, to claim protection or care from them. But now,
Dr. Franklin, may I beg that you will forgive me if I retire? The news
you have brought me of course has been a terrible shock. I must have
time to collect my thoughts, to realize the sudden, terrible change
this revelation has made in my whole life. I am deeply grateful to
you, to my father's three associates, but I can say no more now."
"Of course, dear child." Dr. Franklin patted her hand perfunctorily
and arose with ill-concealed relief that the interview was at an end.
He could not understand her attitude of the last few moments and it
troubled him vaguely. She had received the news of her father's
bankruptcy with a girlish horror and incredulousness--which had been
only natural under the circumstances; but when it was borne in upon
her, in as delicate a way as he could convey it, that dishonor was
involved in the matter, she had, after the first outburst, maintained
a stony, ashen self-poise and control that were far from what he had
expected. It was the most disagreeable task he had performed in many a
day and he was heartily glad that it was over. Only his very great
desire to ingratiate himself with these kings of finance, who had
commissioned him to do their bidding, as well as the inclination to be
of real service to his young and orphaned parishioner, had induced him
to undertake the mission.
"You must rest and have an opportunity to adjust yourself to this new,
unfortunate state of affairs," he continued. "I will call again
to-morrow. If I can be of the slightest service to you, do not
hesitate to let me know. It is a sad trial, but our Heavenly Father
has tempered the wind to the shorn lamb; He has provided you with a
protector in young Mr. Hamilton, and with kind, true friends who will
see that no harm or deprivation comes to you. Try to feel that this
added grief and trouble will, in the end, be for the best."
The alacrity with which he took his departure was painfully obvious,
but Anita scarcely noticed it. Her mind was busy with the new, hideous
thought, which had assailed her at that first hint of dishonesty on
the part of her father--the thought that she was being made the victim
of a gigantic conspiracy.
As soon as she found herself alone, she flew to the telephone. "Main,
2785," she demanded.... "Mr. Hamilton, please.... Is that you,
Ramon?... Can you come to me at once? I need your advice and help.
Something has happened--something terrible! No, I cannot tell you over
the 'phone. You will come at once? Yes, good-by, Ramon dear."
She hung up the receiver and paced the floor restlessly. Almost
inconceivable as it had appeared to her consciousness under the first
shock of the announcement, she might in time have come to accept the
astounding fact of her father's insolvency, but that disgrace,
dishonor, could have attached itself to his name--that he, the model
of uprightness, of integrity could have been guilty of crooked
dealing, of something which must for the honor of his memory be kept
secret from the ears of his fellow-men, she could never bring herself
to believe. Every instinct of her nature revolted, and underlying all
her girlish unsophistication, a native shrewdness, inherited perhaps
from her father, bade her distrust alike the worldly, self-interested
pastor of the Church of St. James and the three so-called friends,
who, although her father's associates, had been his rivals, and who
had offered with such astounding magnanimity to stand by her.
Why had they offered to help her? Was it really through tenderness and
affection for her father's daughter, or was it to stay her hand and
close her mouth to all queries?
Why did not Ramon come? Surely he should have been there before this.
What could be detaining him? She tried to be patient, to calm her
seething brain while she waited, but it was no use. Hours passed while
she paced the floor, restlessly, and the dusk settled into the
darkness of early winter. Wilkes came to turn on the lights, but she
refused them--she could think better in the dark. The dinner-hour came
and went and twice Ellen knocked anxiously upon the door, but Anita,
torn with anxiety, would pay no heed. She had telephoned to Ramon's
office, only to find that he had left there immediately upon receiving
her message; to his home--he had not returned.
Nine o'clock sounded in silvery chimes from the clock upon the mantel;
then ten and eleven and at length, just when she felt that she could
endure no more, the front door-bell rang. A well-known step sounded
upon the stairs, and Ramon entered.
With a little gasp of joy and relief she flung herself upon him in the
darkness, but at an involuntary groan from him she recoiled.
"What is it, Ramon? What has happened to you?"
Without waiting for a reply she switched on the light.
Ramon stood before her, his face pale, his eyes dark with pain. One
arm was in a sling and the thick hair upon his forehead barely
concealed a long strip of plaster.
"Nothing really serious, dear. I had a slight accident--run down by a
motor-car, just after leaving the office. My head was cut and I was
rather knocked out, so they took me to a hospital. I would have come
before, but they would not allow me to leave. I knew that you would be
anxious because of my delay in coming, but I feared to add to your
apprehension by telephoning to you from the hospital."
"But your arm--is it sprained?"
"Broken. I had a nasty crash--can't imagine how it was that I didn't
see the car coming in time to avoid it. It was a big limousine with
several men inside, all singing and shouting riotously, and the
chauffeur, I think, must have been drunk, for he swerved the car
directly across the road in my path. They never stopped after they
had bowled me over, and no one seemed to know where they went."
"Then the police did not get their number?"
"No, but they will, of course. Not that I care, particularly; I'm
lucky to have got off as lightly as I did. I might have been killed."
"It was a miracle that you were not, Ramon. Do you know what I
believe? I don't think it was any accident, but a deliberate attempt
to assassinate you; to keep you from coming to me."
"What nonsense, dear! They were a wild, hilarious party, careless and
irresponsible. Such accidents happen every day."
"I am convinced that it was no accident. Ramon, I feel that I am to be
the victim of a conspiracy; that you are the only human being who
stands in the way of my being absolutely in the power of those who
would defraud me and defame father's name."
"Anita, what do you mean?"
"Dr. Franklin called upon me this afternoon; he left just before I
telephoned to you. He told me an astonishing piece of news. Ramon,
would you have considered my father a rich man?"
"What an absurd question, dear! Of course. One of the richest men in
the whole country, as you know."
"You say that he consulted you about his business affairs, and that
you knew of no trouble or difficulty which could have caused him
anxiety? His securities in stocks and bonds, his assets were all
sound?"
"Certainly. What do you mean?"
"I mean that my father died a pauper! That on the word of Mr.
Rockamore, Mr. Mallowe, Mr. Carlis and Dr. Franklin, he was on the
verge of dishonorable bankruptcy, into which I may not inquire."
"Good Heavens, they must be mad! I am sure that your father was at the
zenith of his successful career, and as for dishonor, surely, Anita,
no one who knew him could credit that!"
"Mr. Rockamore and the other two who were so closely associated with
him made a solemn promise to my father shortly before his death, it
seems, that they would care for and provide for me. They sent Dr.
Franklin to me this afternoon to explain the circumstances to me, and
to assure me of their protection. Save for you, they consider me
absolutely in their hands; and when I sent for you, you were almost
killed in the attempt to come to me. Ramon, don't you see, don't you
understand, there is some mystery on foot, some terrible conspiracy?
That unknown visitor, my father's death so soon after, and now this
sudden revelation of his bankruptcy, together with this accident to
you? Ramon, we must have advice and help. I do not believe that my
father was a pauper. I know that he has done nothing dishonorable; I
am convinced that the accident to you was a premeditated attempt at
murder."
"My God! I can't believe it, Anita; I don't know what to think. If it
turns out that there really is something crooked about it all, and
Rockamore and the others are concerned in it, it will be the biggest
conspiracy that was ever hatched in the world of high finance. You
were right, dear, bless your woman's intuition; we must have help.
This matter must be thoroughly investigated. There is only one man in
America to-day, who is capable of carrying it through, successfully. I
shall send at once for the Master Mind."
"The Master Mind?"
"Yes, dear--Henry Blaine, the most eminent detective the English-speaking
world has produced."
"I have heard of him, of course. I think father knew him, did he
not?"
"Yes, on one occasion he was of inestimable service to your father. I
will summon him at once."
Ramon went to the telephone and by good luck found the detective free
for the moment and at his service.
He returned to the girl. She noticed that he reeled slightly in his
walk; that his lips were white and set with pain.
"Ramon, you are ill, suffering. That cut on your head and your poor
arm--"
"It is nothing. I don't mind, Anita darling; it will soon pass. Thank
Heavens, I found Mr. Blaine free. He will get to the truth of this
matter for us even if no one else on earth could. He has brought more
notorious malefactors to justice than any detective of modern times;
fearlessly, he has unearthed political scandals which lay dangerously
close to the highest executives of the land. He cannot be cajoled,
bribed or intimidated; you will be safe in his hands from the
machinations of every scoundrel who ever lived."
"I have read of some of his marvelous exploits, but; what service was
it that he rendered to my father?"
"I--I cannot tell you, dearest. It was very long ago, and a matter
which affected your father solely. Perhaps some time you may learn the
truth of it."
"I may not know! I may not know! Why must I be so hedged in? Why must
everything be kept from me? I feel as if I were living in a maze of
mystery. I must know the truth."
She wrung her hands hysterically, but he soothed her and they talked
in low tones until Wilkes suddenly appeared in the doorway and
announced:
"Mr. Henry Blaine!"