JAMES BANSEMER CALLS
Following close upon Mrs. Cable's visit to his office in the
afternoon, Bansemer presented himself at her home in the evening,
urbane, courtly, but characteristically aggressive. Her action in
bearding him in his den was not surprising, even though it might
have been considered unusual. He had been well aware for some time
that she was sorely uneasy and that it was only a question of time
when she would make the expected advances. Since the announcement
of Jane's engagement Bansemer had been punctiliously considerate;
and yet, underneath his faultless exterior, Mrs. Cable felt that she
could recognise the deadly poise of other intentions. She lived in
fear that they would spring upon her as if from the dark and that
she would be powerless to combat them. Something stronger than
words or even intuition told her that James Bansemer was not to be
turned aside by sentiment.
Driven at last to the point where she felt that she must know
his intentions, she boldly ventured into his consultation room, a
trembling but determined creature whose flesh quivered with chill
despite the furs that foiled the wintry winds. Elias Droom passed
her on into the private room with a polite grin that set her teeth
on edge.
She left the building fifteen minutes later, nursing a wild but
forlorn hope that James Bansemer meant no evil, after all. Without
hesitation she told him plainly that she came to learn the precise
nature of his attitude toward herself and the girl. Bansemer's
resentment appeared too real to have been simulated. He was almost
harsh in his response to the inference. In the end, however, he was
a little less than tender in his efforts to convince her that she
had cruelly misjudged him. She went away with a chill in her heart
dislodged, but not dissolved. When he asked if she and Mr. Cable
would be at home that night for a game of cards, she felt obliged
to urge him to come. It was not until she was in the carriage below
that she remembered that David Cable was to attend a big banquet
at the Auditorium that night, and that Jane would be at the theatre
with friends.
Bansemer smiled serenely as he escorted her to the door. "We will
not permit anything to happen which might bring misery to the two
beings so dear to us," he assured her at parting.
Shortly after eight he entered the Cable home. He had gone to
Chicago Avenue beforehand to send a telegram East. From the corner
of Clark Street, he walked across town toward the lake, facing the
bitter gale with poor grace. In Washington Place he passed two men
going from their cab into the Union Club. He did not look at them
nor did he see that they turned and stared after him as he buffeted
his way across Dearborn Avenue. One of the men was Bobby Rigby;
the other, Denis Harbert of New York.
"It's the same Bansemer," said Harbert as they entered the club.
"I'd know him in a million."
At the Cables' a servant, on opening the door, announced that Mr.
Cable was not at home.
"Is Mrs. Cable at home?" asked Mr. Bansemer, making no effort to
find his cardcase.
"Yes, sir," responded the servant after a moment's hesitation.
Bansemer passed through the vestibule.
"Say Mr. Bansemer, if you please."
He removed his coat and was standing comfortably in front of the
blazing logs in the library when she came down.
"I thought the night was too dreadful for anyone to venture out
unless--" she was saying as she gave him her hand.
"A night indoors and alone is a thousandfold more dreadful than one
outdoors in quest of good company," interrupted Bansemer. He drew
up chairs in front of the fireplace and stood by waiting for her
to be seated.
"I had forgotten that Mr. Cable was to attend a banquet at the
Auditorium," she explained nervously, confident, however, that he
felt she had not forgotten.
"To be sure," he said. "This is the night of the banquet. I was
not invited."
"I tried to telephone to ask you to come to-morrow night. The storm
has played havoc with the wires. It is impossible to get connection
with anyone." A servant appeared in the doorway.
"You are wanted at the telephone, Mrs. Cable, Shall I say you will
come?"
Flushing to the roots of her hair, the mistress of the house excused
herself and left the room. Bansemer leaned back in his chair and
smiled. She returned a few minutes later with a fluttering apology.
"What a terrible night it must be for those poor linemen," she said.
"I remember what it meant to be a railroad lineman in the West
years ago. The blizzards out there are a great deal more severe than
those we have here, Mr. Bansemer. Just think of the poor fellows
who are repairing the lines to-night. Doesn't it seem heartless?"
"It does, indeed. And yet, I daresay you've been scolding them bitterly
all evening. One seldom thinks it worth while to be merciful when
the telephone refuses to obey. It's only a true philanthropist who
can forgive the telephone. However, I am grateful to the blizzard
and happy. Fair weather would have deprived me of pleasure."
"I am sorry Mr. Cable is not at home," she said quickly.
"I doubt if I shall miss him greatly," said he.
"He expects to leave early--he isn't well," she hastened to say.
"Don't you want to smoke?"
"A cigarette, if you don't mind. By the way, where is my future
daughter-in-law? Surely I may see her to-night."
"She is at the theatre--with the Fernmores. Graydon is one of the
party. Didn't you know?" she asked suddenly.
"I do remember it now. He left the apartment quite early. Then
I have Fernmore to thank for--we are alone." He leaned forward in
his chair and flicked the cigarette ashes into the fire, his black
eyes looking into hers with unmistakable intentness.
"You assured me to-day that you would be fair," she said with
strange calmness, meeting his gaze unflinchingly.
"I am fair. What more can you ask?" with a light laugh.
"Why did you say to-day that I had nothing to fear from you?" she
demanded.
"You have nothing to fear. Why should you fear me? For twenty years
your face has not been out of my memory. Why should I seek to hurt
you, then? Why should I not rejoice in the tie that binds our
interests--our lives, for that matter? Come, I ask if I am not
fair?"
Her face became pale, her heart cold. She understood. The mask
was off. He veiled his threat in the simplest words possible; the
purpose looked through with greedy disdain for grace.
"I can offer no more than I offered to-day," she said.
"Do you suppose I would accept money in payment for my son's peace of
mind?" declared Bansemer, with finely assumed scorn. "You offered
me ten thousand dollars. You will never know how that hurt me,
coming from you. Money? What is money to me in an affair like this?
I care more for one tender touch of your fingers than all the money
in the world! You--and you alone, can mould every impulse in me.
For half my life I have been hated. No one has given me a grain of
love. I must have it. For years you have not been out of my mind--I
have not been out of yours."
"Stop!" she cried angrily. "You have no right to say such things
to me. You have been in my mind all these years, but oh, how I have
hated you!"
Like a flash, his manner changed. He had her in his power, and it
was not in his nature to permit his subjects to dictate to him.
Craft and coercion always had been his allies; craft could not win
a woman's heart, but coercion might crush it into submission. It
was not like James Bansemer to play a waiting game after it had
been fairly started.
"Now listen to me," he said distinctly. "You cannot afford to talk
like that. You cannot afford to make an enemy of me. I mean what
I--"
"What would you do?" she cried. "You have promised that nothing
shall happen to mar the lives of our children. You have given me
your pledge. Is it worthless? Is it--"
"I wouldn't speak so loud if I were you," said he slowly. "The
walls have ears. You have much to lose if ears other than those in
the wall should hear what could be said. It would mean disaster.
I know, at least, that you do not love David Cable--"
"What! I--I worship my husband," she cried, her eyes flashing, her
bosom heaving. "I love him better than anything else in all the
world. How dare you say that to me!"
"Control yourself," he cautioned calmly. "Permit me to say you love
the position he has given you. You love the pedestal on which you
stand so insecurely. You would rather hear his curse than to see
the hand of social ostracism raised against you. Wait! A word from
me and not only David Cable, but the whole world would turn against
you."
"I have committed no crime," she flared back at him, "I have
deceived my husband, but I have not dishonoured him. Tell the world
everything, if you will."
"It would be a luscious tale," he said with an evil laugh. "The
world, which is wicked, might forget the fact that Jane is not
David's daughter; but David would not forget that she is yours."
"What do you mean?" starting from her chair.
"I think you understand," he said deliberately.
"My God, she is NOT my child!" she cried in horror. "You know she
isn't. You know the entire story. You--"
"I only know that you brought her to me and that I did you a service.
Don't ask me to be brutal and say more." She sank back and glared
at him like a helpless, wounded thing, the full force of his threat
rushing in upon her.
"You--you COULDN'T do THAT," she whispered tremulously.
"I could, but I don't see why I should," he said, leaning closer
to her shrinking figure.
"You know it isn't true," faintly.
"I only know that I am trying to save you from calamity."
"Oh, what a beast you are!" she cried, springing to her feet. "Go!
I defy you! Do and say what you will. Only go!"
He rose calmly, a satisfied smile on his face.
"I shall, of course, first of all, forbid my son to marry the
young woman. It will be necessary for me to explain the reason to
Mr. Cable. I am sorry to have distressed you. Really, I had expected
quite a different evening, after your invitation. You can't blame
me for misunderstanding your motive in asking me to come here when
you expected to be utterly alone." His laugh was a sneer.
"Poor--poor little Jane!" murmured the harassed woman, clasping
her hands over her eyes; then suddenly she cried out: "What a devil
you are to barter with your son's happiness!"
"I'll not mince matters," he said harshly. "You and I must understand
each other. To be perfectly frank, everything rests with you. Call
me a beast if you like. As a beast I can destroy you, and I will."
"You forget that I can go to my husband and tell him everything.
He will hate me, but he will believe me," she said, facing him once
more.
"The world will believe me," he scoffed.
"Not after I tell the world that you tried to blackmail me--that
you have demanded fifty thousand dollars."
"But I haven't made such a demand."
"I can SWEAR that you have," she cried triumphantly. He glared at
her for a moment, his past coming up from behind with a rush that
left him nothing to stand on.
"I am willing to run the risk of scandal, if you are, my dear,"
he said after a moment, his hands clenched behind him. "It will be
very costly. You have much to lose."
"I think," she said shrewdly, guessing his weakness even as he saw
it, "that we can talk sensibly of the situation from now on. I am
not afraid of you."
He looked at her steadily for a moment, reading her thoughts, seeing
her trembling heart. Then he said drily:
"I'll do nothing for a week, and then you'll send for me."
The door in the vestibule opened suddenly and someone--aye, more
than one--came in from the outside. Mrs. Cable started to her feet
and turned toward the library door. Bansemer was standing close
by her side. He turned to move away as David Cable stepped to the
door to look in. Cable's coat collar was about his ears and he was
removing his gloves. For a moment he stood motionless, gazing upon
the occupants of the room.
Then, for the first time, there flashed before him the sharp
point of steel which was to pierce his brain later on with deadly
suspicion and doubt. There was no mistaking the confusion of Mrs.
Cable and her visitor. It was manifest that they had not expected
him to appear so unexpectedly. He remembered now that on two other
occasions he had found Bansemer at his house, and alone with Mrs.
Cable, but he had not regarded it as extraordinary. But there was
a startled look in her eyes to-night, an indecision in her greeting
that caused him to knit his brows and lift his hand unconsciously
to his temple before speaking. He heard Bansemer say that he was just
going, but that he would stay for a short chat about the banquet.
Mrs. Cable turned to stir the fire with the poker, an unusual act
on her part he was not slow to observe. The seed was sown.
"I brought Bobby over from the club with me--and a friend, Frances,"
he said, after asking Bansemer to sit down for a while. His keen
eyes noted that her hand shook as she put the poker back into its
place. As he walked into the hall to throw aside his coat, Frances
Cable turned to Bansemer with a significant look, shaking her head
in mute appeal for silence.
Bobby Rigby came into the room, followed by a tall stranger, whom
he presented to Mrs. Cable. Bansemer, standing near the library
table, caught a glimpse of the stranger's face as he took Mrs.
Cable's hand. He started violently, unable at first to believe his
eyes. A chill ran through his frame and his expression changed from
wonder to consternation.
"Mr. Bansemer, my friend, Mr. Harbert."
"I have met Mr. Bansemer," said Harbert, with a cold stare straight
into the other's eyes. They were on opposite sides of the table.
"In New York," said Bansemer firmly, his eyes unflinching in
their return. He noticed that Harbert's look was uncompromisingly
antagonistic, but that was to be expected. It troubled him, however,
to see something like unfriendliness in Rigby's greeting.
Harbert was the man who had fought him to rout in New York. This
keen, aggressive young barrister had driven him into a corner from
which he escaped only by merest chance. He knew James Bansemer
for what he was. It had not been his fault that the man crawled
through a small avenue of technicalities and avoided the punishment
that had seemed so certain. He had waged war bitterly against the
blackmailer, and he missed complete victory by a hair's breadth.
Feeling the strain of the situation, Rigby talked with earnest
volubility. He led the conversation into many lines--the war in
the Philippines, the banquet, the play which Jane and Graydon were
seeing. The thought of the play brought a shade of despair to his
brow--pretty Miss Clegg was in the party with that "mucker" Medford.
James Bansemer had been cold with speculation every instant of the
time; had felt that Harbert's condemning gaze had never left him.
Apparently listening to the others, he found himself wondering what
Harbert's trip to Chicago signified. Gradually it dawned upon him
that his old-time foe was not through with his fighting. The look
in Rigby's eyes meant something, after all--and Rigby was Graydon's
best friend! Harbert was in Chicago to act--and to act first! This
thought shot into the man's brain like burning metal. It set every
nerve afire. His nemesis had already begun his work. Before he left
the Cable home that night he would be asking his host and hostess
what they knew of one James Bansemer's past.
As Bansemer arose to say good-night to the others, Harbert's eyes
met his with deadly directness.
"Where are your offices, Mr. Bansemer?" asked the New Yorker. There
was something significant in the question.
"Mr. Rigby and I have offices in the same building," he replied.
"Will you come in and see me?"
"I shall try," said the other.
To have saved his life, Bansemer could not meet David Cable's
questioning eyes as he shook hands with him. Cable's hands were
like ice.
Outside the house, in the whirling gale, the tall lawyer breathed
easier, but not securely. His brain was clogged with doubts, fears,
prophecies--all whirling like mad around the ominous figure of
Denis Harbert.
Suddenly, he stopped stockstill, the bitter scowl deepening in his
eyes. With an oath he turned abruptly and hurried in the opposite
direction. The time had come to make ready for battle. A few minutes
later, he was writing the note which created so much commotion in
the home of Elias Droom.