"_Now for my part of the bargain_"
He was looking at the jewels, appraising them, making sure they were
real and marketable. She was looking at them, too, with a wild longing
and a bitter disappointment, which he, turning at that moment to mark
her looks, saw and rated at its full value.
"Well, I guess they'll do," he exclaimed, pausing in his task of
thrusting the gems in his pocket to hand her a bracelet ornamented with
one small diamond. "But I expected more from all this fuss and feathers.
Was it to guard these----"
"Yes," she murmured, thrusting the bracelet into the neck of her dress
and stepping quickly back. "They are priceless to the owner.
Associations you know. Mrs. Stoughton is dead--There! that will do. Now
for my part of the bargain," and bethinking her at last of the pistol,
she raised it and pointed it full in his face. "You will close that door
now and send the telephone you promised."
He rose and banged to the door.
"All right," he cried. "You've behaved well. Now hide that pistol in
your waist and we'll step into the outer office."
She did as she was bid, and in a moment more they were crossing the
floor outside. As they did so, she noticed that the two clerks had been
sent out to luncheon, leaving them alone with Mr. Fellows. This was not
encouraging, nor did she like the click which at this moment Beau
Johnson made with his tongue. It sounded like a preconcerted signal.
Whether so or not, it brought Mr. Fellows from his room, and in another
instant he was standing with them before the telephone. There was a
clock over the safe-room door. It stood at just twenty-five minutes
after eleven.
"Hurry!" she whispered as the other took up the receiver.
She did not need to say it. His own anxiety seemed to be as great as
hers, but his anxiety was to be gone. The nerve which sustained him
while the issue was doubtful gave some slight tokens of failing, now
that his efforts had brought success and only this small obligation lay
between him and the enjoyment of the booty he had won at such a risk.
She was sure that his voice trembled as he uttered the familiar.
"Hello!" and during the interchange of words which followed, the strain
was perhaps as great on him as on her.
"Hello! how's the old man?"
She could hear the answer. It swept her fears away in a moment.
"Well, but anxious about the girl."
"She's all right, everything's all right. Take the sick man home and
tell him that his daughter will be there almost as soon as he is."
"I must hear my father's voice." It was Grace who was speaking. "I will
give a cry that will echo through this building if you do not put me in
communication with him at once."
Her hand went out to the receiver.
The veins on Beau Johnson's forehead stood out threateningly.
"Curse you!" he muttered; but he gave the order just the same.
"Hello! Don't shut off. The girl's nervous; wants to hear her father's
voice. Have him up! two words from him will answer."
"Father!"
Grace's mouth was at the phone.
No reply.
She cast one look at Johnson.
"They're getting him on his feet," he grumbled. _His_ eye was on the
door.
"Father!" she called again, her voice tremulous with doubt and anxiety.
A murmur this time, but she recognized it.
"It's he! it's he," she cried. "He's safe; he's well. _Father!_"
But Johnson had no time for dilly-dallying. Catching the receiver back,
he took his place again at the phone and shouted a few final
injunctions. Then he faced her with the question:
"Are you satisfied?" She nodded, speechless at last and almost
breathless from exhaustion. He bowed and made for the door. As he opened
it, Mr. Fellows slid forward and joined him. Both were leaving. He as
well as Johnson. She caught the look which the manager threw her as he
closed the door behind them. There was threat in that look and her heart
strings tightened as she stood alone there facing her fearful duty. Mr.
Fellows was a thief! The manager of this concern was even then perhaps
walking off with the booty wrenched from her care by the devil's own
inquisition. What should she do? Send for Philip? Yes, that was all her
tortured mind could grasp. She would send for her own Philip and get his
advice before she notified the police or sent the inevitable cablegram.
She was too ill, too shaken to do more. Philip! Philip!
She was fainting--she felt it, and was raising her voice to call in one
of the clerks, when the outer door opened and Mr. Fellows came in. She
had not expected him back. She had fondly believed that he had gone with
his professional comrade; and the sight of him caused her to rise again
to her feet.
"You!" she murmured, facing him in dull wonder at his renewed look of
threat. "I cannot stay in the same room with you. You are----"