CRISIS
It was nearly dark when the big red car drew up in front of the Gleason
cottage and, the girl only alighting, moved on again slowly down the
street. At the second crossing beyond, out of sight of the house, it
switched abruptly to the right for four blocks, into the poorer section
of the town, and stopped before a battered, old-fashioned residence. A
middle-aged man in his shirt sleeves sat on the step smoking a pipe. At a
nod from the driver he advanced to the curb.
"Mr. Armstrong in, Edwards?" asked Roberts directly.
The man shook his head.
"Been here, has he?"
"Not since he left this morning; about ten o'clock it was."
Roberts paused, his hand on the clutch lever.
"Will you have him 'phone me when he comes, please?"
"Yes, certainly."
"Thank you."
The next stop was at the office, dark with a Sabbath darkness; but not
for long. Within the space of a few minutes after he came, every light
switched on, the windows open wide, his coat dangling from a chair in the
corner, Roberts was at work upon a small mountain of correspondence
collected upon his desk, a mountain of which each unit was marked
"personal" or "private." At almost the same time a waiter from a near-by
_cafe_ entered with a tray of sandwiches and coffee. Thereafter he ate as
he worked.
An hour passed. The sandwiches disappeared entirely and the mountain grew
slightly smaller. A second hour dragged by and the mountain suffered a
second decline. For the first time Roberts halted and glanced at the
clock. A moment later he took down the receiver from the 'phone on his
desk and gave a number.
"That you, Randall? Has Armstrong been at your place to-night? You
haven't seen him at all to-day, then. No; nothing. Just wanted to know,
that was all. Good-night."
Another half-hour passed; then, without pausing in his work, Roberts
pulled the buzzer lever for a messenger. When the latter appeared he
scribbled a few lines on a sheet of paper, addressed an envelope, and
gave it to the boy with half a dollar.
"There's a mate to that coin waiting here for you if you can get me an
answer within half an hour," he said. "You know the party, don't you?"
"Sure. Yes, sir."
"Follow up the trail, then. You've lost one minute of your thirty
already."
For the third time he returned to his work, halting only when the
messenger in blue returned.
"Can't deliver it, sir," explained the latter curtly. "I've been all over
town and no one has seen him. Thank you, sir. Good-night."
For several minutes this time Darley Roberts sat in his desk chair
thinking, quite motionless. The clock on the wall recorded midnight and
he compared the time with his watch to make certain of its accuracy. Once
more he took down the telephone receiver.
"This you, Elice?" he asked after a moment. "Can I be of service? Never
mind, no need to explain. I understand. I'll be right up."
In spite of the city speed limit the big red car made those twelve
blocks intervening in sixty-four seconds flat.
* * * * *
"How did you ever know?"--infinite wonder, infinite relief as well in the
tone. "Tell me that, please."
"I didn't know, of course. I merely guessed. Has it been long?"
Involuntarily the girl shuddered, then held herself steady with an
effort.
"Yes, since dinner. He came while we were eating; and father--"
"I understand," preventingly. "Don't worry. It's all over with now. Did
any one else see--any of the neighbors, I mean?"
"I think not. It was after dark and--Oh, it's simply horrible!
horrible!"
"Yes," gently. "I appreciate that. Let's not speak about it. Your two
roomers are both in?"
The girl nodded.
"They didn't suspect anything wrong either?"
"No, the hammock was dark--and father watched. They went right up to
their rooms without stopping."
Roberts nodded, and looked out of the window. The light in the residence
district of the town was on a midnight schedule and was now cut off. He
turned back. A moment he stood so, silent, facing the girl there in the
dimly lighted hall. Under a sudden instinct he reached out and laid a
hand compellingly on each of her shoulders, holding her captive.
"You don't misunderstand my intruding here to-night, do you, Elice?" he
asked directly.
"Misunderstand!" The girl looked at him steadily, the dark circles about
her eyes eloquent. "Never. How can you fancy such a thing! Never."
"And you're willing to trust me to bring everything out right? It will be
all right, take my word for that."
Still the girl did not stir, but gazed at him. "Yes, I trust you
implicitly, always," she said.
A moment longer the hands held their place before they dropped.
"All right, then," he said perfunctorily, "go to bed. I'll take care of
Steve--to-night and in the future. Don't worry. Good-night."
"Wait," a hand was upon his arm, a compelling hand. "You mean--"
Roberts smiled deliberately, his slow, impersonal smile.
"Exactly what I said. This will be a lesson Steve should never forget. I
can't imagine his repeating it--ever. Besides, I'll help him not to. I
have a plan."
"You mean to help him as--as you helped Harry Randall and Margery?"
A moment the man was silent, though he smiled.
"No, not exactly. I'll merely assist him to help himself. I think perhaps
it's only my duty anyway, that maybe I'm more or less responsible. By the
way, don't be surprised if he disappears for a bit. He may possibly
decide to go out of town. That's all, for now."
The girl drew a long breath.
"You responsible!" she echoed. "If you're responsible, how, then,
about--myself?"
"Elice!" Roberts cut her off peremptorily. "I refuse to listen. Go to bed
at once, I insist. I'll come to-morrow and talk if you wish. Just now
it's all too near. Good-night again."
An instant later, on the darkened porch without, he had the arm of the
doddering old man in the grip of a vise.
"Leave everything here to me," he said swiftly, "and see to Elice." He
was leading the other toward the entrance. "Listen. See that she goes to
bed--at once; and you too. I'll attend to everything else. Trust me," and
very gently he himself closed the door behind the other two.
It was after office hours of the day following when Stephen Armstrong, a
bit pale but carefully groomed this time, entered the outer room of
Darley Roberts' office and, with decided reluctance, approached the
private apartment beyond. The door was open. Seated before the big desk,
shirt-sleeved as usual, Roberts sat working. As the newcomer approached
he wheeled about.
"Come in," he said simply. "I'm glad to see you."
The visitor took a seat by the open window and looked out rather
obviously.
"I just received your note a bit ago," he began perfunctorily, "and
called instead of giving you an appointment, as you asked. It's the least
I could do after last night." He halted, looking at the building opposite
steadily. "I want you to know that I appreciate thoroughly what you did
for me then. I--I'm heartily ashamed, of course."
"Don't speak of it, please," swiftly. "I've forgotten it and I'm sure
Miss Gleason and her father have done the same. No one else knows, so
let's consider it never occurred. It never will again, I'm sure, so
what's the use of remembering? Is it agreed?"
Armstrong's narrow shoulders lifted in silence.
"As for not speaking of it again," he answered after a moment, "yes.
Whether or not in the future, however--I'm not liar enough to promise
things I can't deliver."
"But you can 'deliver,' as you say," shortly. "You know it yourself."
Armstrong shook his head.
"I'm not as bumptious as I was a few years ago," he commented. "I'd have
said 'yes' then undoubtedly. Now--I don't know."
Roberts swung about in his desk chair, the crease between his eyes
suddenly grown deep.
"Nonsense," he refuted curtly. "You're not the first man in the world who
has done something to regret. Every one has in some way or another--and
profited by the experience. It's forgotten already, I say, man. Let it
pass at that, and go ahead as though nothing had happened. By the way,
have you had supper--or do you call it dinner?"
For the first time Armstrong looked at the speaker and, forgetting for
the instant, he almost smiled. The question was characteristic.
"I've already dined, thank you," he said.
Without comment Roberts called up the _cafe_ and ordered delivered his
customary busy-day lunch of sandwiches and coffee.
"I'm going East on the eleven-fifty limited to-night," he explained, "and
there are several things I've got to see to first." In voluntary
relaxation from work he slipped down in the big chair until his head
rested on the back. Thereafter for a long time, for longer doubtless than
he realized, he sat so, looking at the other man; not rudely or
unpleasantly, but with the old, absent, analytical expression large upon
his face. At last he roused.
"I suppose," he began abruptly, "you're wondering what it is I wish to
speak with you about. I'll explain in advance that it's of your personal
affairs purely, nothing else. Would you prefer me not to intrude?"
For a moment Armstrong did not answer, but with an effort he looked at
the questioner directly.
"If it were a couple of days back," he said, "I should have answered
'yes' emphatically. Now--" his glance wandered out the window, resting on
the brick wall opposite, "now I hardly know. You've earned a sort of
right to wield the probe; and besides--"
"Never mind the right," shortly. "I tell you last night is forgotten. I
meant to see you and have the same talk anyway--with your permission."
Still Armstrong hesitated, looking steadily away. "You've condoned the
fact, then, that I've cut you dead on the street regularly?"
"I understood--and didn't blame you. There are dozens of people who know
Old Man Roberts and still never see him when passing face to face. It's
all in the game."
At last Armstrong's glance returned, almost with wonder. "And you don't
lay it up against them?"
"Sometimes. Usually, however, not. Life's too short to play with toys;
and enmities are toys--double-edged ones at that. You haven't answered my
question yet."
"I know; but just a moment more. Do you recall, by the way, a prophecy I
made once, years ago?"
"Yes; it never came true as far as I am concerned."
"Perhaps you never had cause to have it do so."
"Possibly."
"With me it did come about. I've hated you ever since--from the day you
left. Do you realize why I haven't answered your question?"
"Yes, why you haven't. I'm still waiting."
"I'm wondering," mused Armstrong, "why I don't hate you, now that we're
here together. I've thought a lot of bitter things about you, more than
about any one in the world. I don't know why I don't say them now that
I've got the chance."
"Yes, you have the chance. I'm listening."
"I know." Armstrong's long fingers were twitching nervously. Despite an
effort to prevent his lower lip trembled in sympathy. "And still, now
that for the first time I have the chance, I can't. I don't want to. I--"
Of a sudden an uncontrollable moisture came into his eyes, and he shifted
about abruptly until his face was hid. "Damn you, Darley Roberts!" he
stormed inadequately, "I don't want to a bit, but after all I trust you
and--and like you. You have my permission to intrude. I want you to, have
wanted you to a hundred times." The Rubicon was crossed at last and he
made the admission that for long had trembled on his tongue. "Somehow I
can't get along without you and keep my nerve. I think you're the only
person in the world who even in a measure understands me, and can maybe
make a man of me again."
[Illustration: "You mean to suggest that Elice," he began, "that
Elice--You dare to suggest that to me?" (_Page 107_)]
In his place Darley Roberts sat looking at the other, merely looking at
him. The silence grew embarrassing, lasted into minutes; but still
unconsciously he remained as he was. At last suddenly his eyes dropped
and simultaneously the fingers of his big hands twitched in a way that
heralded action. Whatever the problem of that period of silence decision
had come.
"I think I understand what you mean," he said deliberately. "Perhaps,
too, it's true. I don't know. Anyway I'll try to play the game--try to."
He remembered, and the hands lay still. "By the way, you're not working
now?"
"No."
"Have you anything definite in sight?"
Despite the permission he had granted but a moment before Armstrong
colored; with an effort he met his questioner frankly.
"No," again.
"That's good. It occurred to me that it might clear the atmosphere here a
bit if you went away for a time. What do you say to McLean's for a couple
of weeks?"
On Armstrong's face the red of a moment ago changed to white, a white
which spread to his very lips.
"And take the cure, you mean! Do you think, really, it's as bad with me
as that?"
"No," bluntly; "I'd have said so if I had. But just because you might not
contract pneumonia is no reason for not wearing an overcoat when the
thermometer is at zero. I'd go if I were you, just as I'd be vaccinated
if there was an epidemic of small-pox prevalent."
"But the admission! A confirmed alcoholic!"
"Confirmed nothing. Your going is no one's business but your own. The
place is a general sanatorium; it's advertised so. Anyway you will have
good company. The biggest bondholder in the Traction Company is there
now. Do you happen to have the money that you'll need convenient?"
"No. That's another rub; and besides--on the square, Darley, I don't need
to do that--yet. I know after last night things look bad; but--"
"I understand perfectly. Let's not waste ammunition on a man of straw.
The change will do you good, though, anyway. I'd go myself for the sake
of that big marble plunge if I could spare the time." He was writing a
check swiftly. "Pay it back when something drops," he proffered; "there
will be something develop soon--there always is. By the way, why not go
along with me to-night? It's on the same road."
Armstrong accepted the slip of paper mechanically; a real moisture came
into his eyes, and he held it back at arm's length.
"Darley, confound you," he protested, "I can't accept that. I simply
can't!"
"Can't--why? It's good. Try it anywhere down town."
"You know I don't mean that; but--"
"Yes--" The big fingers were twitching ominously.
"But after--what's past--"
"Wouldn't you make me a loan if positions were reversed?" shortly.
"Yes, certainly; but--"
"Forget it, then." Roberts turned back to his desk abruptly. "Pardon me
if I go on working. I've simply got to clear this desk before I go." He
waited in silence until the other man started to leave; just as Armstrong
reached the door he wheeled about.
"You'll be with me at eleven-fifty sure, won't you?" he asked directly.
Armstrong hesitated, his eyes averted.
"Yes," he said at last.
"Good. I'll attend to the reservations for both of us. Travel East is
light now and we'll have things practically to ourselves. There are a
number of other things I wish to talk with you about--and we'll have all
night to do it in. I suppose you'll see Elice this evening?"
Again Armstrong colored. "Yes," he repeated uncertainly.
"Tell her, please, for me that I'll be out of town for about three weeks.
Meanwhile the car is subject to her order. I left directions at the
garage. If it's convenient for you to happen around this way about train
time there'll be a cab waiting. Good-bye until then."
For two hours thereafter Roberts worked steadily--until every scrap of
correspondence on the desk had been answered or bore memoranda for the
instruction of the stenographer on the morrow. At last he took down the
'phone.
"Randall? There'll be a carriage call for my baggage shortly. It's all
ready. Thanks. By the way, have you that manuscript handy I spoke to you
once about? All right. Tuck it in somewhere while you think of it,
please. You're still of the same opinion, that it's good; at least worth
a hearing? Very well. It'll be published then. I'm accepting your
judgment. Never mind how. This is between you and me absolutely. I'm not
to figure--ever. If it goes flat he'll have had his chance. That's all
any of us can have. By the way, again. I'm sorry to miss Mrs. Randall's
dinner-party. I'm not often honored in that way. Anyway, though, perhaps
it's as well. I'm impossible socially; and, fortunately, I know just
enough to realize it. Yes; that's all. Good-night."
Thereafter he waited until he got "Central" on the wire.
"Call me at eleven-thirty," he requested. "I'll be asleep, so ring me
long and loud. Eleven-thirty sharp, remember, please."
He hung up the instrument with a gesture of relief and leaned back in his
chair, his great bushy head against the bare oak, his big hands loose in
his lap. A half-minute perhaps he sat so--until the eyes slowly closed
and, true to his word, and swiftly as a child at close of day, he fell
asleep.
At eleven o'clock the watchman of the building, noticing the light, came
to investigate. A moment he stood in the open door, an appreciative
observer. On tiptoe he moved away.
"Some one's paying good and plenty for this," he commented _sotto voce_
and with a knowing wag of the head. "The old man's all in--and he isn't
doing it for his health alone, you bet!"