IT had been a misty morning, with slush in the streets. For hours
the great fog-siren had been bellowing to the ships on the sound and
breaking into every conversation. “Go slow and keep away!” it screeched,
in a kind of mechanical hysterics.
I was sitting at my desk when Norris's pirate came in. I didn't like
the look of him, for I saw at once that he was hard wood, and that he
wouldn't whittle. He was a sleek, handsome, well-dressed man of
middle age, with gray eyes, iron-gray hair and mustache, the latter
close-cropped. Here, then, was Wilton--a man of catlike neatness from
top to toe. He stepped softly like a cat. Then he began smoothing his
fur--neatly folded his coat and carefully laid it over the back of a
chair; blew a speck of dust from his hat, and tenderly flicked its brim
with his handkerchief and placed it with gentle precision on the top of
the coat. It's curious how the habit of taking care gets into the
character of a gentleman thief. He almost purred when he said “Good
morning.” Then he seemed to smell the dog, and stopped and took in his
surroundings. His hands were small and bony; he felt his necktie,
adjusted his cuffs with an outward thrust of both arms, and sat down.
Without a word more he handed me the note from Norris, and I read it.
“Yes,” I said; “Mr. Norris has given me a brief history of your
affectionate regard for him.”
He tried to take my measure with a keen glance. I looked serious, and he
took me seriously.
“You see,” he began, in a low voice, “for years I have been trying to
protect him from unscrupulous men.”
He gently touched the end of one forefinger with the point of the other
as he spoke. His words were neatly said, and were like his clothing,
neatly pressed and dusted, and calculated to present a respectable
appearance.
“Tell me all about it,” I said. “Norris didn't go into details.”
“Understand,” he went on, gently moving his head as if to shake it down
in his linen a little more comfortably, “I have never made a cent out of
this. I have only kept enough to cover my expenses.”
It was the old story long familiar to me. The gentleman knave generally
operates on a high moral plane. Sometimes he can even fool himself about
it. He had climbed on a saint's pedestal and was looking down on me. It
shows the respect they all have for honor.
“There are two men besides myself who know the facts, and I have
succeeded so far in keeping them quiet,” he added.
“I don't know you, but you won't be offended if I assume that you're a
man of honor,” I said.
In the half-moment of silence that followed the old fog-siren screeched
a warning.
There was a quick, nervous movement of the visitor's body that brought
his head a little nearer to me. The fur had begun to rise on the cat's
back.
“There's nothing to prevent it,” said he, with a look of surprise.
“Save a possible element of professional pride,” was my answer.
“That vanishes in the presence of a lawyer,” said he.
It was a kind of swift and surprising cuff with the paw, after which I
knew him better.
“But we're licensed, you know, and now, your reputation being
established, I suggest that you are in honor bound to let us know the
names of those men.”
“Excuse me! I'm above that kind of thing--way above it,” said he, with a
smile of regret for my ignorance.
“Perhaps you wouldn't be above explaining.”
“Not at all. If I told you that, I would be as bad as they are. Why,
sir, I would be the yellowest yellow dog in the country.”
“Frankness is not apt to have an effect so serious,” I said.
Again the points of his forefingers came together as he gently answered:
“You see, the first demand they made of me, after putting the story in
my hands, was that I should never give out their names. I had to promise
that.”
“Oh, I see. They've elected you to the office of Guardian Angel and
Secretary of the Treasury. How did it happen?”
The query didn't annoy him. He was getting used to my sallies, and went
on:
“It was easy and natural as drawing your breath. Those men knew that I
had met Mr. Norris--that I was a man of his class, and could talk to him
on even terms. They had got the story from a man now dead--paid him five
hundred dollars for it. They wanted my help to make a profit, see? I
had met Mr. Norris and liked him. He is one of Nature's noblemen. So I
played a friendly part in the matter, and bought the story and turned
it over to Mr. Norris for what it cost me, and he gave me two hundred
dollars for my time. Unfortunately, they have turned out to be rascals,
and we have had to keep them in spending money, and prosperity has made
them extravagant. The whole thing has become a nuisance to me, and I
wish I was out of it.”
“What do they want now?” I asked.
“Ten thousand dollars.”
That was all he said--just those three well-filled words--with a sad but
firm look in his face and a neat little gesture of both hands. “When do
they want it?”
“To-day; they're getting impatient.”
“Suppose you tell them that they'll have to practise economy for a week
or so at least. I don't know but we shall decide to let them go ahead
and do their worst. It isn't going to hurt Norris. He's been foolish
about it; I'm trying to stiffen his backbone.” Wilton rose with a look
of impatience in his face that betrayed him.
“Very well; but _I_ shall not be responsible for the consequences.”
The cat had hissed for the first time, but he quickly recovered himself;
the tender look returned to his eyes.
“I think you're foolish,” he began again, while his right forefinger
caressed the point of his left. “These men are not going to last long.
One of them has had delirium tremens twice, and the other is in the
hospital with Bright's disease. They're both of them broke, and you know
as well as I that they could get this money in an hour from some
newspaper. It's almost dead sure that both of these men will be out of
the way in a year or so. Norris wants to be protected, and it's up to
you and me to do it.”
“Personally I do not see the object,” I insisted. “Protecting him from
one assault only exposes him to another.”
“You see, the daughter isn't married yet, and we'd better protect the
name until she's out of the way, anyhow. That girl can go to Europe and
take her pick. She's good enough for any title. But if this came out it
would hurt her chances.”
“Mr. Wilton, I congratulate you,” was my remark.
“I thought you would see the point,” he answered, with a smile.
“I am thinking not of the point, but of your philanthropy. It is
beautiful. Do you sleep well nights?”
“Very,” he answered, with a quick glance into my eyes.
“I should think that the troubles of the world would keep you awake.”
His face flushed a little, and then he smiled. “You lawyers have no
suspicion of the amount of goodness there is in the world--you're always
looking for rascals,” he said.
“But we have wandered. Let us take the nearest road to Rome. You say
they must have money to-day.”
“Before three o'clock.”
“We'll give them ten thousand dollars--not a cent more. You must tell
them to use it gently, for it's the last they'll get from us. To whom
shall I draw the check?”
“To me--Lysander Wilton,” he answered, with a look of relief.
I gave him the check. He put on his coat and began to purr again; he was
glad to know me, and rightly thought that he could turn some business my
way.
As he left my office I went to one of the front windows and took out my
handkerchief. The fog-whistle blew a blast that swept sea and land with
its echoes. In a moment I saw a certain clever, keen-eyed man who was
studying current history under the direction of Prof. William J. Bums
come out of a door opposite and walk at a leisurely pace down the main
street of Pointview toward the station. He was now taking the first
steps in a systematic effort to see what was in and behind the man
Wilton.
III.--IN WHICH A MAN IS SEEN HOLDING DOWN THE BUSHEL THAT HIDES HIS
LIGHT
THE first thing I desired was the history of Wilton. He knew more
about us than we knew about him, and that didn't seem to be fair or
even necessary. In fact, I felt sure that his little world would yield
valuable knowledge if properly explored. I knew that there were lions
and tigers in it.
I learned that Wilton had proceeded forthwith to a certain apartment
house on the upper west side of New York, in which he remained until
dinner-time, when he came out with a well-dressed woman and drove in a
cab to Martin's. The two spent a careless night, which ended at four a.m.
in a gambling-house, where Wilton had lost nine hundred dollars. Next
day, about noon, his well-dressed woman friend came out of the house
and was trailed to a bank, where she cashed a check for five hundred
dollars. We learned there that this woman was an actress and that her
balance was about eighty-five hundred dollars.
Three months passed, and I got no further news of the man, save that he
had gone to Chicago and that our trailers had gone with him.
“Our Western office now has the matter in hand,” so the agency wrote
me. “They are doing their work with extreme care. Fresh men took up the
trail every day, until one of our ablest became a trusted confidant of
Wilton.”
The whole matter rested in the files of my office, and I had not thought
of it until one day Norris sent for me and, on my arrival at his house,
showed me a telegram. It was from the President of the United States,
whose career he had assisted in one way and another. It offered him the
post of Minister to a European court. The place was one of the great
prizes.
“Of course you will accept it?” I said.
“I should like to,” he answered, “but isn't it curious that fame is one
of the things which fate denies me. I wouldn't dare take it.”