Matilda’s coal-black cat was the first to hear it.
She had slipped up from the kitchen to the top-floor landing unseen,
and had chosen a spot on the faded carpet to complete her morning
toilet, warmed by a sunbeam that pierced the paint and dust of a
diamond-checkered skylight--color of chocolate and clothes bluing.
She sat undisturbed at her ease, her tail curled snugly about her,
while she diligently nibbled between the toes of her velvety paws. This
done, she licked her strong black chest with her clean pink tongue
until it shone as glossy as sable; thoroughly licked her sleek flanks,
passed a moistened paw over and over her ears, scrubbing them well,
reclined with exquisite grace, stretched to her full, sinuous length,
her paws spread, yawned, and was busily licking and nibbling the
extreme tip of her tail, when she suddenly sat upright, motionless, her
ears shot forward, listening, the depths of her yellow eyes as clear as
topaz.
A door had brusquely opened below, and over its threshold poured forth,
rose, and reverberated up the stairs the angry voices of two men.
Crouching, her tail swishing nervously from side to ride, she craned
her head with slow caution between the banisters and peered down. Back
in her street-cat days she would scarcely have given the incident a
second thought. Besides, in the street there was always an area gate to
slip under out of danger. In the house it was different. Experienced as
she was in the art of eluding her enemies, she had a horror of being
cornered. She knew the exit to the roof to be closed as tight as a
blind alley. In the event of pursuit she would be obliged to pass her
enemy in her flight back to the kitchen. There was the pot-closet with
its comforting barricade of old brooms and singed ironing-boards, and
safer refuges under the damp coal-hole, and unfathomable depths in the
cavernous cellar, veiled by cobwebs--but of all these she preferred
Matilda’s aproned lap for safety.
The row four flights below continued, punctuated with sharp retorts,
vehement denials, curt threats--all unintelligible to her, save that
their savage tone kept her where she was, and on the _qui vive_.
She was not the only one listening now. The hubbub below had brought
Miss Ann Moulton out to her landing. She, too, was listening, fearing
to be seen, peering cautiously over the banisters.
“No, sir! I tell you my client declines to settle on any such basis,”
declared a stranger below--a big-shouldered man with a thunderous
voice. But the cat could only see his heels and the muddy rims of his
trousers, and now and then his big clenched hand as he swung it angrily
toward the banisters in speaking. Miss Ann could see more. She could
see the breadth of his great shoulders and a fringe of curly red hair
shadowed by the brim of a brown derby with a mourning band.
“We’ve given you more than ample time to settle this matter, Mr. Ford,”
continued the stranger; “for cash, do you understand! You promised to
settle up on the twentieth. That’s a week ago.”
“Didn’t say no such thing,” retorted Ebner Ford, out of view of his
listeners. “What I said was I’d see she got half by the first----”
“The first, eh? We’ve no record of that.”
“Hold on now, my friend--no use of us both talkin’ at once. I said half
by the first, and the other half six months from date. That’s what I
told her--I guess I know what I told her.”
Miss Ann leaned forward with bated breath.
“See here. There’s no use of your arguing this matter further,”
returned the other. “Unless you settle by to-morrow noon----”
“Serve me with a summons, eh? Is that it? Ain’t I give you enough
guarantee of good faith?”
“We do not consider your good faith a guarantee,” retorted the
stranger. “What my client wants is her money--all of it. I give you
fair warning. You’ll settle by to-morrow noon with a certified check or
we’ll bring the matter to court.”
Ebner Ford strode forward into the hall, slamming his door shut back of
him.
“You tell Mrs. Miggs,” he cried, “she’ll get her money all right. You
tell her she’ll get it on the dates I promised her, and not before. You
can’t bulldoze me. You ain’t the only lawyer in this here town. I’ve
got one as smart as you, and when you come to settle up this matter
you’ll find it’ll cost you a damned sight more’n you bargained for. You
tell her that. Don’t you dare insinuate I ain’t treated her fairly.”
A strange numbness seized Miss Ann.
“You sold my client stock,” shouted back the lawyer, as he turned down
the stairs, “that is worthless; that you knew at the time wasn’t worth
the paper it was printed on. We’ve got a case of embezzlement against
you that’s as plain as daylight. There isn’t a judge on the bench that
would take four minutes to decide it. Good morning.”
The floor upon which the little spinster stood seemed to rise and fall
beneath her trembling knees. Her frail hands gripping the railing for
support grew cold. She heard the heavy tread of Mrs. Miggs’s legal
adviser descending the stairs; almost simultaneously the front door and
Ebner Ford’s closed with a slam.
For a long moment Miss Ann stood there trembling--sick and faint.
“Oh!” she gasped feebly. “Oh! Oh!” With an effort she reached her door,
entered her room, and closed it.
The cat cautiously withdrew her head between the banisters. The sunbeam
had vanished, a sickly chocolate-and-blue light filtered through the
dusty skylight. Close to Enoch’s door-mat she found a fly crawling with
a broken wing. She played with it for a while, coaxed it half dead
twice back to life, and, finally tiring of it as a plaything, killed
it with one quick stroke of her paw. Then she fell slowly asleep--a
double purr in her throat, her topaz yellow eyes half closed, one white
tooth showing, drowsily conscious that two fat little sparrows were
chirping cheerfully on the roof.
Fear overwhelmed Miss Ann. Fear led her tottering to the nearest
armchair, until she fell weak and trembling into it, pressing her cold
hands to her throbbing temples. Fear stood by while she fought to
control herself, to think, to reason, to catch at the smallest glimmer
of hope as to Ebner Ford’s honesty. The lawyer’s denunciation had
overweighed any vestige of doubt. It was convincing, terrible in its
briefness and truth.
Ebner Ford had swindled old Mrs. Miggs!
The very tone in his voice had belied his guilt. The lawyer’s
thunderous denouncement still rang in her ears. “You sold my client
stock that you knew at the time wasn’t worth the paper it was printed
on.... We’ve got a case of embezzlement against you that’s as plain as
daylight.” Embezzlement! No man would have dared say that to another
unless he had proof. Her money--their money--Jane’s--half of all they
possessed in the world.
She fell to weeping, her flushed, drawn cheeks buried in her hands--a
sense of utter helplessness and loneliness swept over her. “Oh, Jane!”
she moaned. She thanked God she was out, that she had not heard--and
in the next breath prayed for her return. Could she tell her? Was it
wise to tell her? And yet she felt she must. It was their money. She
must know the truth, ill as she was. Why had she been weak enough,
fool enough to have believed him? Why had she not waited, thought the
matter over, gone to some one for advice? There were moments when
she thought she would go mad, and during these she paced up and down
the room, wringing her poor, weak hands. Once or twice she felt like
rushing frantically to Ebner Ford and demanding an explanation--of
appealing to his sense of pity--of begging him to give her back her
money. Twice she rushed to her door, but fear held her back--a dread
now of him whom she had believed in. True, there have been some
magnanimous and tender-hearted thieves in the world who have been known
to restore certain cherished keepsakes to their victims--a watch, a
ring. Ebner Ford was not one of these. He lacked even the “honor” of
the professional. He belonged to that class of suave scoundrels who
dare not rob men, but who confine their talent to preying upon the
confidence and ignorance of helpless women, of inveigling them into
their confidence, bullying them, if needs be, and railroading them to
disaster.
A healthy, determined girl would have gone down and had it out with
him, and failing to get satisfaction would have gone in search of a
lawyer, a detective bureau, or even a policeman. Miss Ann was too timid
for that. Like the cat, she had even been afraid to descend the stairs
during its occupation by the enemy. There was also something else that
had checked her. Eavesdropping to a woman of Miss Ann’s delicate
sensibilities was dishonest, ill-bred, and vulgar. To be obliged to
confess to Ebner Ford she had been listening to words not intended for
her ears--a common eavesdropper--she shrank from the thought.
Neither anger nor the craving for revenge had ever entered her heart.
She was capable of neither; all she was capable of was bravely
living through her daily share of anxiety and patient suffering. She
thought of wiring her brother to come at once; then she reasoned how
undependable and useless he was; how he had mismanaged most of her
affairs; how time and time again it was she who had helped him when in
trouble--and Jim Moulton was always in trouble, having an inordinate
distaste for real work. He still preserved, however, the remnants of
a gentleman, both in his manners and his pleasant voice, though his
dress was somewhat seedy; even to-day his language bespoke a man who
had once been a scholar. He reduced his plain rye with plain water,
which reduced him in turn to the society of the men who sold it. Out in
his small Western town he dabbled along lazily in piano, real estate,
and sewing-machine rentals, all under the same ceiling, next door to
the best saloon in town. He was one of those who, convinced he was
stronger than the rest of humanity, have tried to make a boon companion
of alcohol, and survive--a feat of strength which no man yet has
accomplished. Any old bartender could have told him that. No; there was
no use in wiring Jim.
Now that the first effects of her shock were over, Miss Ann grew
visibly calmer. At least she ceased wringing her hands, and returned
wearily to the armchair, where she tried to decide what must be done,
what could be done. Her sister had not returned, and not a sound had
broken the stillness of the house since Ebner Ford had slammed his door
shut.
Suddenly a firm, rapid step on the stairs made her start. It was
Enoch’s. He passed her door and ascended to his own, stopping to stroke
the sleepy cat on his landing, a caress which awakened her and started
her purring. She had never been afraid of Enoch.
During that swift moment when Mr. Crane had passed her door, a desire
had seized Miss Ann to intercept him, to pour out to him the whole
story of her misery and despair, and ask his advice; and yet from sheer
timidity she hesitated. She had let him pass. She felt all the more
keenly this lost opportunity as she heard his door close above. He was
in his room now, and if she would see him, she must go up and rap, a
thing she had never done unbidden in her life. She thought of ringing
for Moses, of telling him to “ask Mr. Crane if he would mind calling
on Miss Moulton over a matter of immediate importance,” but a haggard
glance at herself in the old-fashioned mirror above her mantel wisely
checked her. Had Moses seen her, he would more likely have rushed down
for Matilda, telling her that Miss Ann was ill.
For another long moment she struggled with herself; then mustering
up all her courage, she quickly opened her door and climbed Enoch’s
stairs.
“Mr. Crane,” she called feebly, and knocked; at that instant she felt
like running away. In reply to his sharp “Come in,” she tried to turn
the knob, but her courage failed her. Enoch flung open his door wide
and stood staring at her haggard face.
“My dear Miss Moulton,” he exclaimed, “what has happened?”
She tried to speak.
He strode across his threshold and laid his hand tenderly on her frail
shoulder, and without a word gently led her into his room.
“Mr. Crane,” she faltered, fighting to control herself, “I--I am in
great trouble.”
Enoch led her to his chair, went back, closed his door, and waited for
her to grow calmer.
“You would not have come to me unless you _were_ in great trouble,” he
ventured at length, in a kindly way, breaking the silence. “Your--your
sister is--er--is not worse?” he asked.
Miss Ann shook her head.
“What, then?” he insisted firmly, seating himself quietly beside her.
“You’ve had a shock, Miss Moulton. Won’t you be frank with me?”
For a moment she buried her face in her hands and a low moan escaped
her trembling lips. Then in a voice so hesitating, so painful, that
he dared not interrupt her, she told him the whole pitiful story--of
Ebner Ford’s visit, of his persuading her to invest half of all she and
her sister possessed in the world in his wringer stock, of his glowing
eulogy over the Household Gem’s selling qualities, and old Mrs.
Miggs’s good fortune, of those tragic moments when she had listened on
the stairs to the lawyer’s denunciation, and of her fears for her money
in the hands of a man she had trusted implicitly, and who had been
openly denounced as an embezzler.
Through all this painful, halting confession, Enoch did not open his
lips, his keen sense as a lawyer keeping him silent until her final
words, “What _am_ I to do?” left her mute and trembling, with a look in
her eyes of positive terror.
Enoch rose with a deep sigh, a strange, hard glitter in his eyes, and
stood before her, his strong hands clasped behind his back.
“The old game,” he muttered tensely, gazing at the floor with a
knitted brow. “Always a woman,” he exclaimed, his voice rising, “a
helpless, trusting woman!” he cried, with slow-gathering rage while
she sat before him, the picture of desolation. “Just what I might have
expected. Despicable hound! And as long as there are trusting, innocent
women in this world there will always be scoundrels to rob them.”
“Oh! why did I not wait--why did I not consider the matter?” she moaned.
“Such hopeful safeguards as wait and consider never enter these cases,”
came his brief reply. “Under the clever, steady persuasion of these
scoundrels a woman of your trustful nature never waits or considers.
What did you give him?”
“A check,” she faltered.
“For how much?”
“My check for seven thousand five hundred dollars,” she confessed
faintly.
Enoch’s under lip shot forward. “Ah! my poor lady!” he sighed.
“Which he informed me he deposited,” she added painfully.
Enoch brightened. “Then he _has_ a bank-account, has he? A bank at
least. That’s one favorable vestige of hope. Seven thousand five
hundred, you say?”
She bent her head, twining and untwining her fingers nervously.
“Mr. Crane, what _am_ I to do? My sister’s welfare--her very life
depends on this money.”
“Do!” cried Enoch savagely. “_Do!_ My dear lady, you are to leave this
matter entirely in my hands. That’s what you are to do.”
She looked up at him breathlessly.
“Entirely!” The word rang out convincingly. “You leave Mr. Ebner Ford
to me. I’ll attend to that individual.”
So far the thought of Sue had never entered his head; of what her
stepfather’s ruin and disgrace would mean to her; his one dominating
interest being absorbed in the pitiful facts before him, his sense of
justice to Miss Ann obliterating everything else.
“It is safe to say he cannot have spent all of your money,” he went
on vibrantly. “What he’s got left of it he’ll return to you. That I
promise you.”
Miss Ann drew a sharp breath of relief.
“And the rest he’ll make good,” cried Enoch.
“But suppose,” ventured the little spinster timidly, “that he--he has
not got it, Mr. Crane?”
“He’ll get it,” came Enoch’s sharp reply.
She met the savage gleam in his eyes wonderingly--two grateful tears
blurring the vision of him whom she had feared to come to, and who now
seemed to be a pillar of hope.
“You tell me you feel in duty bound to tell your sister,” he continued
again, seating himself beside her. “Why? It would only worry
her--uselessly.”
“She has been too happy over our coming great good fortune,” she
explained. “We’ve made plans for the summer. These must be changed, you
see. Even if I do regain the money--things will be no better for us
than before.”
“Better wait,” replied Enoch. “I shall get at this matter at once. One
thing--you are not to worry. No; I wouldn’t tell your sister if I were
you. Promise me you won’t.”
For the first time the vestige of a smile lightened her anxious face.
“Then I won’t tell Jane. Do you know it is the first thing I have ever
kept from her in my whole life, Mr. Crane? We have never had a secret
we have not shared.”
He took her frail hand comfortingly in his own.
“This is no longer _your_ secret,” he declared. “It is mine.”
For some moments she was silent.
“Mr. Crane, if you only knew how grateful I am to you,” she tried
to say and keep back the tears, “how my whole heart goes out in
gratefulness to you----”
“If there is any one who ought to be grateful,” he returned, with
a slow smile, “it is I--for your having come to me in time,” he
added reassuringly. “One thing,” he continued seriously, “you must
be extremely careful of--not to give him, should you meet him, the
slightest suspicion that you know anything--that you doubt his honesty.
What I intend to do is to interview this individual to-morrow; by
to-morrow night I should have better news for you. There! now you are
to think no more about it. Go to your room, my dear lady, and try and
meet your sister as if nothing had happened. If you have to tell her a
fib--do so. I’ll be responsible for it.”
Again he smiled, and this time he pressed her frail little hand warmly,
and helped her gently to her feet.
“Oh, Mr. Crane!” she breathed. “With that lovely stepdaughter--and his
poor wife--how my heart goes out to them!”
“Only two more of his victims,” was Enoch’s grim reply. “That dear
child, and worse, that poor mother who is married to him, believing in
him--um!--a difficult question.”
Again he laid his hand tenderly on her frail shoulder as he opened his
door.
“You are not to worry,” he repeated, as she went down the stairs.
Miss Ann smiled back at him bravely. Enoch waited until he saw her
reach her door, and for some moments stood listening. Having made up
his mind that Miss Jane was still out, he returned to his room, wrote a
brief note, and rang for Moses.
There were but five lines in the missive, but they said much to Ebner
Ford. They informed him that Enoch might be exceedingly interested in
his laundry stock, and that if it was still at par, he would be pleased
to see him without fail at his office in South Street the following
morning at ten o’clock.
Ebner Ford had passed a bad quarter of an hour with himself after the
lawyer’s departure. Finally he had sat himself down at that roll-top
desk of his with its worthless contents, and began drumming with his
long fingers, trying to sharpen his wits as to the best way out of the
matter, and reluctantly coming to the conclusion that the only means of
silencing old Mrs. Miggs and her attorney was to settle the eighteen
hundred dollars she claimed, and to do this he would be obliged to pay
her out of his lucky nest-egg--Miss Ann’s money. He was turning over in
his mind this unfortunate turn in his affairs, when Moses rapped and
handed him Enoch’s note.
“Well, say!” he exclaimed, brightening into a broad grin as he read it.
“Interested at last, is he? That saves my bacon. He’ll pay for Mrs.
Miggs.”