THE FINANCIER TAKES A FLYING TRIP TO EUROPE ON AN AFFAIR OF THE HEART
A storm that he had scarcely expected awaited Wallingford when he
returned. His wife met him furiously. She had all her belongings packed
separately from his own, and would have been gone before his arrival but
that she could not express her anger in a mere letter.
"It is the last straw, Jim!" she charged him. "You're growing worse all
the time. I saw that you were throwing me with this puppy Feldmeyer
deliberately, but was foolish enough to think that you were doing it
only so that I might be amused while you were busy. As well as I know
you, I did not suspect that you could possibly bring yourself to use me
as a lever to borrow money from him!"
A twinkle that he could not help came into Wallingford's eyes as he
thought of how easily Feldmeyer had been bent to his own ends, and it
was most unfortunate for him, for she caught the look and interpreted it
instantly.
"You're even proud of it!" she cried. "There's nothing in this world
sacred to you. Why, only last night he made open love to me and insisted
that I 'disappear' with him on a trip he is taking. He only laughed when
I told him how I hated him. He had been drinking, and he and Maylie had
been together. They are on to you, Jim. Maylie has found out something
about you and has told Feldmeyer, and now the man would believe anything
of you. He showed me your notes, and as good as told me that I was in
partnership with you in getting money out of him. And you exposed me to
this!"
"Where is he?" asked Wallingford unsteadily.
"I shan't tell you. He has left the city. He left this morning, and I
have been considering whether, after all, I had not better stay sold."
They were in the parlor. Now she opened the door into the next room.
"Where are you going?" he asked, stepping toward her.
For reply she only laughed, the most unpleasant laugh he had ever heard
from her, and, stepping through, closed the door. Before he could reach
it she had bolted it. He went immediately into the hall, but all the
other doors to their suite were also locked.
Maylie stepped out of the elevator as he was pondering what to do.
"Heard you had come in," said the lawyer, in a jaunty tone of easy
familiarity. "How are tricks?"
The fellow stood in front of the open parlor door, and the light
streamed upon his face. Wallingford, in the dimness, could study his
countenance without exposing his own to such full scrutiny. There sat
upon Maylie a new self-possession that had something insolent about it.
Fanny had been right. Maylie had been getting reports upon him.
"Step in," he cordially invited, and Maylie walked into the parlor. It
was noticeable that he kept his hat on until after he had sat down.
"Tricks are very fair indeed," continued Wallingford in answer to the
offhand question. "We're going to get through with it in good shape."
Maylie laughed.
"You're all right," he said. "From all accounts you're a wonder. No
matter what you tackle, the milk stopper business, carpet tacks,
insurance, sales recorders, you're always a winner," and after this hint
that he knew something of Wallingford's past he lit a cigarette with
arrogant nonchalance, then got up to close the hall door which had been
left slightly ajar.
Wallingford's half-closed eyes followed him across the room with a gleam
in which there boded no good for Mr. Maylie. Turning, however, Maylie
found his host laughing heartily.
"I seldom pick up the hot end of it," asserted Wallingford. "How about
the bank?"
"They're offering suit right now, and the Pneumatic will not pay the
note. The company hasn't the money, and the tightening up of the local
financial situation that has come about in the past month will make it
almost impossible to realize on such trifling securities as the members
have. Moreover, if they had money they're scared stiff, and not one of
them would put up a dollar, except Klug, perhaps. They'll let the
company go to a forced sale. I guess that's what you wanted, isn't it?"
"I'm not going to say about that," replied Wallingford. "The less we
talk, even with the doors locked, the better."
"That's so," agreed Maylie; "only there's one point of it we _must_ talk
about. How did you come out in the East?"
"I have just told you not to try to know too much."
"I don't want to know too much. I only want to know where I come in."
"Your experience with me ought to tell you that you will have no
occasion to quarrel with your fee."
"I thought so," retorted Maylie, leaning forward with a laugh that was
more like a sneer; "but I want more than a fee, and I'm going to have
more than a fee!"
For just one instant Wallingford almost lost his suavity, but whatever
game he played he held all its tangled ends continuously in view.
"So we're all thieves together, eh?" he said, smiling, and the gleam of
gratification upon Maylie's face assured him that he was upon the right
track. "Of course, I know that you have a string on me in this matter
and can hold me up," he admitted, as if reluctantly, "so suppose we say
ten thousand for you, if the deal goes through the way I want it."
"Now you're shouting!" exclaimed Maylie, and rising impulsively he shook
hands with great enthusiasm. "You may count on me."
"I do," said Wallingford, also rising; and, still keeping his grip of
the lawyer's hand, he turned his back squarely to the window, so that
Maylie would be compelled to face it. "I consider you as mine from this
minute."
As he said the words there came that little flicker in Maylie's close
set eyes for which he had been looking. It told of negation--that Maylie
still held his own plans in reserve. So adroit himself in plot and
counterplot, it was no trick for Wallingford to fathom this amateur, and
he let the lawyer go away hugging the delusion that he had this
experienced schemer under his thumb; then Wallingford once more turned
his attention to the locked door.
The silence within those other rooms had become oppressive, and a panic
began to come over him. He knocked, but there was no response. He went
out into the hall once more, and trying each of the knobs shook them.
The far door, to his surprise, opened under his hand. Not one valued
possession of Mrs. Wallingford's was in evidence. Empty dresser drawers
were open, and two suit cases were gone. A trunk in the corner stood
wide, and its bulky articles of lesser worth were strewn upon the floor.
He immediately telephoned from that room. Yes, Mrs. Wallingford had
gone. No, they did not know to which depot. She had merely called a cab
and had hurried away. He ordered up time tables and studied them
feverishly. Almost at this very moment trains were leaving from two
different depots, and these were more than three miles apart. There was
no chance of finding quickly to which one she had gone. A horrible fear
oppressed him. That she had joined Feldmeyer was almost inconceivable,
but that she might have taken even this revenge for the slight that had
made her furious was a thought in harmony with the principles by which,
through his own moral warp, he judged humanity, and he was frantic. At
Feldmeyer's office he found the door also locked and the rooms for rent!
The next train for the East found Wallingford upon it. He spent days in
attempting to get on the track of them, and he finally found out about
Feldmeyer. He had gone to Europe. On the sailing list almost any name
might conceal his wife, and to Europe went Wallingford, misled by his
own worse self. It was characteristic of him that, having found
Feldmeyer and being convinced that Mrs. Wallingford had never joined
that gentleman, he should remind the doctor that he had been "chased"
with his own money; and then he hurried home, more worried than ever,
but his precious ten thousand dollars still intact and with some to
spare. He needed that ten thousand for a specific purpose. Finally it
occurred to him to enlist the services of "Blackie" Daw, and hunted that
enterprising salesman of insecure securities. Blackie laughed at him and
handed him a letter. Partly to punish her husband and partly to satisfy
certain vague, mistaken longings she had cherished for a "quiet life,"
Mrs. Wallingford had immured herself in a little village, living most
comfortably upon her diamonds; but now she was tired of it--and anxious
for "Jim!"
"It's no use," she confessed when he had hurried to her. "Your way is
wrong, but you've spoiled me with luxury."
"I'll spoil you with more of it," he assured her, petting her with an
overgrown playfulness that seemed strange in one of his bigness of
frame, and made of his varied character a most complex thing; "but if I
don't hurry back on the job I'll get the hooks."
It was, in fact, high time for him to return to business, for he could
get no wire from Maylie about the forced sale; and this was the
strategic point for which he had been planning since the day he met Carl
Klug. Three telegrams drew no response, and there was no one else to
whom he dared wire in the present condition of affairs. Leaving his wife
where she was for the present, he took the first train for the West and,
arriving on the day before the sale, drove directly from the train to
Carl Klug's, where he found a mournful assembly.
"That's him!" exclaimed Jens Jensen, as he came into the shop. "I always
said he was a skinner."
Klug looked at him with dull eyes. Otto Schmitt arose to his
threatening, rawboned height. Henry Vogel put his hand on Otto's arm.
"Wait a minute," he cautioned. "You don't know anything for sure about
things."
"What's the matter?" Wallingford asked, stopped in the midst of his
intended cordial greeting by the hostile air of the gathering.
"You done it a-purpose," charged Jens, shaking his skinny fist. "You got
from us that note, and now it shuts us up in business. You say you back
the company for all you're worth. Maybe you ain't worth anything. If you
ain't you're a liar. If you are worth something you don't back us up.
Then you're a liar again, so that makes you a skinner!"
"Gentlemen," said Wallingford sternly, "I am surprised. The question of
whether I have or have not money is not worth arguing just now. The
point is this: if any one of you had money would you be willing to
invest it against the millions of the United Sales Recording Machine
Company of New Jersey? Would you, Mr. Jensen?"
"I don't know," said Jens sullenly. "I think you're a skinner."
Wallingford shrugged his shoulders.
"Would you, Mr. Schmitt?"
"No," said Otto, and unclenched his huge fists.
"Would you, Vogel?"
Vogel was positive about it, too. It would be throwing good money after
bad.
"I ask Mr. Klug. Would you, Carl?"
"Yes," sturdily asserted Carl, his mustache bristling, his face puffing
red. "Every cent. It is a good patent. It is a good machine. There's
money in it."
"Maybe," admitted Mr. Wallingford; "but let me tell you something I
found out during my trip East. For five years the Hammond Automatic
Cashier Company fought the United Sales Recording Machine Company of New
Jersey tooth and toe nail, and finally sold out to them for two hundred
thousand dollars, a net loss of over a quarter of a million, besides
all their time. During the same period, the Keyes Accounting Device
Company, with a capital of three hundred thousand dollars, was fought
out of existence and quit without a cent. The Burch Company, the
Electric Sales Checking System Company and the Wakeford and Littleman
Store Supply Company, all rich, all met the same fate. That note you
gave me was a mere incident. You had the ten thousand dollars, have used
it in the business, and it is gone. If you had a hundred thousand
dollars more on top of it, that would drop into the same hole, for I am
told that the United Company lays aside twenty-five dollars from every
sale for patent litigation. But since Jensen seems to think I am not a
man of my word I will do this: There are seven of us in the company. I
will put in ten thousand dollars if the rest of you will raise thirty.
We will pay this note and hire lawyers as long as we last, and as a
proof that I mean what I say here is ten thousand dollars that I will
put into the hands of your treasurer the minute the rest of you are
ready to make up your share."
From his pocket he drew ten bills of one thousand dollars each. It was
the first time they had any of them seen money of such large
denomination, and it had a visible effect.
"I can raise five thousand dollars on my house and shop," offered Carl
Klug hopefully, but one glance at the glum faces of his friends was
enough to discourage that idea.
Wallingford was rehabilitated, but not their faith in Carl Klug's
unlucky device. The sale of the company must bring something, possibly
enough to settle the note. If they could get out of it without losing
any more they would consider themselves lucky.
"When is this sale?" asked Wallingford.
"To-morrow morning at ten o'clock. Here."
"Very well," said Wallingford. "If before that time any of you want to
take up the offer I have just made, you are welcome to do so," and he
put the money back in his pocket.
He had found out what he wanted to know, and drove away well satisfied
with the results of his visit. His proposition to put further cash into
the concern "if they would raise thirty thousand dollars" had wrought
the effect he had calculated upon. It had scared them out completely.
At his hotel he found three telephone memoranda waiting for him. They
were all from the same source: room number 425 of the only other good
hotel in the city. He did not answer this call until he got to his own
rooms, and then he spoke with much briefness.
"No, do not come over," he peremptorily insisted. "I have no time to-day
nor to-night, nor until after the sale. It is at ten o'clock, at 2245
Poplar Street. Stay right where you are. I'll send you over the stuff
within an hour," and he rang off.
As soon as he could get connection he called up Maylie, but if the
latter contemplated any trickery he did not show it by any hesitation of
speech when he recognized Wallingford's voice. As a matter of fact, he
already knew Wallingford to be in town. He was cordiality itself. Why,
certainly, he would be right over! His cordiality, however, could not be
exceeded by that of Mr. Wallingford when they met.
"You simply must stay for dinner with me, old man," said Wallingford. "I
have a lot of things to talk over with you."
"I really have an engagement," Maylie hesitated. He had not, but he
would much rather have been alone, this night of all nights.
"Nonsense," insisted Wallingford. "This is more important. It means
money, and big money, to both of us, and we'll just have dinner up here.
We want to be alone to-night. There might always be somebody at the
next table, you know."
Within ten minutes Maylie was glad he had stayed, and the dinner he
heard Wallingford order had reconciled him. He had been doing yeoman
work for himself, and he felt entitled to a certain amount of
indulgence. Within another ten minutes a bottle of champagne was opened,
and Wallingford, taking one glass of it, excused himself to remove the
stains of travel. When he came back, refreshed and clean, the quart of
wine was nearly emptied, and Maylie, leaning back in a big leather
chair, was puffing smoke rings at the ceiling in huge content.