GARRISON'S VALUED FRIEND
Dorothy, catching up the precious will, had retreated from Theodore's
advance. She made no effort to greet him, even with so much as a nod.
"I thought I might possibly find you both, and save a little time,"
said Robinson, striding in boldly, with no sign of removing his hat.
"Seems I hit it off about right."
"Charmingly," said Garrison. "Won't you sit down and take off your hat
and stay a while?"
"You sound cheerful," said Theodore, drawing forth a chair and seating
himself in comfort. "Perhaps you realize the game is up at last."
"Yes," agreed Garrison. "I think we do--but it's good of you to come
and accept our notice, I'm sure."
"I didn't come to accept notice--I came to give it," said young
Robinson self-confidently. "I've recently returned from Rockbeach,
where I went to investigate your so-called marriage."
He had seen or heard nothing of Fairfax; that was obvious.
"Well?" said Garrison. "Proceed."
"That's about enough, ain't it?" said Theodore. "The marriage having
been a fraud, what's the use of beating around the bush? If you care
to fix it up on decent terms, I'll make no attempt to break the will
when it comes up for probate, but otherwise I'll smash your case to
splinters."
"You've put it quite clearly," said Garrison. "You are offering to
compromise. Very generous. Let me have the floor for half a minute.
I've had your man Tuttle on your trail, when you thought you had him on
mine, for some little time.
"I happen to know that you stole two necklaces in the keeping of Mrs.
Fairfax, on the night I met you first, and placed them on the neck of
some bold young woman in the house next door, where, as you may
remember, I saw you dressed as Mephistopheles. You----"
"I stole nothing of the kind!" interrupted Theodore. "She's got
them----"
"Never mind that," Garrison interposed. "Let's go on. You installed a
'phone in your closet, at the house in Ninety-third Street, and on the
night when you overheard an appointment I made with Mrs. Fairfax, you
plugged in, overheard it, abducted Dorothy, under the influence of
chloroform, stole her wedding-certificate, and delivered me over to the
hands of a pair of hired assassins to have me murdered in Central Park.
"All this, with the robbery you hired Tuttle to commit at Branchville,
ought to keep you reflecting in prison for some little time to come--if
you think you'd like to go to court and air your grievances publicly."
Theodore was intensely white. Yet his nerve was not entirely destroyed.
"All this won't save your bacon, when I turn over all my affidavits,"
he said. "The property won't go to you when the will's before the
court. The man who married you in Rockbeach was no justice of the
peace, and you know it, Mr. Jerold Garrison. You assumed the name of
Fairfax and hired a low-down political heeler, who hadn't been a
justice for fully five years, to act the part and marry you to Dorothy.
"I've got the affidavits. If you think that's going to sound well in
public--if you think it's pleasant to Dorothy now to know what a
blackguard you are, why let's get on the job, both of us flinging the
mud!"
Dorothy was pale and tense with new excitement.
"Wait a minute, please," said Garrison. "You say you have legal
affidavits that the man who performed that marriage ceremony was a
fraud, paid to act the part?--that the marriage was a sham--no marriage
at all?"
"You know it wasn't!" Theodore shouted at him triumphantly, pulling
legal-looking papers from his pocket. "And you were married to another
wretched woman at the time. Let Dorothy try to get some joy out of
that, if she can--and you, too!"
"Thank you, I've got mine," said Garrison quietly. "You're the very
best friend I've seen for weeks. Fairfax, the man who has done this
unspeakable wrong, is a lunatic, somewhere between here and up country,
at this moment. He was here in town for a couple of days, and I
thought you might have met him."
"You--what do you mean?" demanded Theodore.
"Just what I say," said Garrison. "I'll pay you five hundred dollars
for your affidavits, if they're genuine, and you may be interested to
know, by the way of news, that a later will by your step-uncle, John
Hardy, has come to light, willing everything to Dorothy--without
conditions. You wasted time by going out of town."
"A new will!--I refuse to believe it!" said Robinson, weak with
apprehension.
Garrison drew open a drawer of his desk and took out a loaded revolver.
He knew his man and meant to take no risk. Crossing to Dorothy, he
took the will from her hand.
"This is the document," he said. "Signed and witnessed in the best of
legal form. And speaking of leaving town, let me suggest that you
might avoid a somewhat unhealthily close confinement by making your
residence a good long way from Manhattan."
Robinson aged before their very eyes. The ghastly pallor remained on
his face. His shoulders lost something of their squareness. A muscle
was twitching about his mouth. His eyes were dulled as he tried once
more to meet the look of the man across the desk.
He knew he was beaten--and fear had come upon him, fear of the
consequences earned by the things he had done. He had neither the will
nor the means to renew the fight. Twice his lips parted, in his effort
to speak, before he mastered his impotent rage and regained the power
to think. He dropped his documents weakly on the desk.
"I'll take your five hundred for the papers," he said. "How much time
will you give me to go?"
"Two days," said Garrison. "I'll send you a check to-morrow morning."
Theodore turned to depart. Tuttle had returned. He knocked on the
door and entered. Startled thus to find himself face to face with
Robinson, he hesitated where he stood.
"So," said Theodore with one more gasp of anger, "you sold me out, did
you, Tuttle? I might have expected it of you!"
Tuttle would have answered, and not without heat. Garrison interposed.
"It's all right, Tuttle," he said. "Robinson knows when he's done. I
told him you were in a better camp. Any news of Mr. Fairfax for us
all?"
"It's out in the papers," said Tuttle in reply, taking two copies of an
evening edition from his pocket. "It seems a first wife of Mr. Fairfax
has nabbed him, up at White Plains. But he's crazy, so she'll put him
away."
For the first time in all the scene Dorothy spoke.
She merely said, "Thank Heaven!"