The bells in Old Trinity were chiming the hour of five and all New York
began to turn its face homeward. The human tide flowed from offices to
elevators, from elevators to corridors and thence in an ever growing
stream toward the subway and elevated stations. The sun, like a round
red Chinese lamp, was poised above the gathering mists of the Jersey
shore, ready for its plunge behind the distant hills. Office boys
and bank presidents, stenographers and captains of industry fought
democratically for seats in the overcrowded trains, while over all
sounded the shrill call of the newsboys as they disposed of the
afternoon papers. Down-town New York had completed another day--the
tides now moved on to Jersey, Harlem, Brooklyn, or the great center
of life that throbs unceasingly about Times Square.
Against this ever increasing torrent of humanity Mr. Ogden Brennan of
the firm of Gruber, McMillan, Brennan & Shaw, Attorneys-at-Law,
struggled irritably, as he forced his way from a down-town subway
train, and hurried to the firm's extensive suite of offices in Wall
Street, near Broadway.
He gave a quick glance about as he entered, and, making rapidly for
his private office, called sharply to young Garvan, one of his
assistants, to ask Mr. Shaw to join him at once. Mr. Brennan was
tall and gaunt-looking, and peremptory alike in his physical and mental
processes, and, when he entered his office, as he did on this occasion,
in a more than usually energetic fashion, everybody, down to William the
office boy, was galvanized into an unwonted activity.
Mr. Shaw, the junior member of the firm, with a dinner on at his club,
had already donned his overcoat and was giving some parting instructions
to his stenographer as young Garvan entered and delivered the message.
He took up his hat with a sigh--he was of a more placid and phlegmatic
temperament than his partner--and, picking up his afternoon paper,
folded it carefully, selected his walking stick from the stand near the
door, and proceeded in a leisurely manner to Mr. Brennan's private
office.
The firm of Gruber, McMillan, Brennan & Shaw was a large one, and its
principal practice lay in the handling of the affairs of corporations
and estates. Criminal practice knew it not, but it was said of Mr. Shaw
that he could draw a better contract, or handle a difficult merger, more
successfully than any other lawyer in New York, which was saying much.
Mr. Brennan dealt with estates and wills--the latter were his hobby. He
claimed that none drawn by himself had ever been broken.
As Mr. Shaw entered his partner's private office, with a bland look of
inquiry upon his well-bred countenance, he observed Mr. Brennan throw
down upon his desk, with an exclamation of annoyance, a thin legal
document, comprising but two pages, written, as he noted, in longhand,
instead of the usual typewritten characters. Mr. Brennan looked up with
a frown.
"Sam," he said hurriedly, "you know that young Billy West? He's dead."
Mr. Shaw put on his eyeglasses, and regarded Mr. Brennan curiously. "I
don't seem to remember him," he replied. "Who was he?"
"Son of old Josiah West, the patent attorney. He made a fortune in
mining operations in Colorado. His father used to be a client of mine,
twenty years ago. Don't you recollect the suits he brought against the
paper trust?"
"Before my time, I think," replied Mr. Shaw.
"Well, it's not important now. I've been wanting to see you about the
matter all day, but that case of the Webster estate has kept me on the
jump. Young West died in Denver last Friday. I've just received a copy
of his will from an attorney out there by the name of Williams." Mr.
Brennan referred to the papers impatiently, adjusting his glasses with
a jerk. "Austin Williams. He writes a long letter, telling me of
West's death in the City Hospital there, following an operation for
appendicitis. Very sudden affair. West was interested in a mine out
there, but had sold out his holdings and put the proceeds in bank. About
half a million, I believe. I'm executor of his estate." He looked at Mr.
Shaw with a frown.
"What of it, Ogden? Simple enough affair, I should think. No contesting
claims, I hope, or anything of that sort."
"None, so far as I can see. It's the terms of the will that I can't
quite understand, and they impress me unpleasantly."
"What are they?" Mr. Shaw regarded his partner wearily. He wondered why
Brennan troubled to explain to him all these apparently unimportant
details, just when he was in an especial hurry to get up-town and change
in time for dinner. "Is there anything in the matter that requires
action to-night?" he inquired. "I have a rather important engagement,
and--"
"Sam," interrupted his partner, "I won't keep you long. My object in
telling you of this matter is to find out if by any chance you know a
man in town named Donald Rogers. The name, somehow, sounded familiar to
me, and I thought possibly you might be able to tell me something about
him. You know everybody, almost."
"Rogers," repeated Mr. Shaw to himself, slowly; "Donald Rogers. Isn't he
a mechanical engineer? There was a chap by that name who had something
to do with the Sunbury Cement case. Expert witness, if I remember
rightly. Seemed a very decent sort of a fellow, and knew his business.
We won the case on his testimony. What's he got to do with it?" The
junior partner took a chair, and laid his cane, newspaper and gloves
carefully upon the desk. "Go ahead," he said quietly. "Let's have the
details."
Mr. Brennan took off his glasses and nervously put them on again. "This
will that West made, upon his deathbed--" he picked up the document from
the desk and regarded it distastefully--"leaves his entire estate to a
woman." He paused and glanced at his partner as though to note the
effect of his statement.
Mr. Shaw turned restlessly in his chair. He evidently saw nothing
strange in this. "Well, why not?" he asked. "I don't see anything about
that to cause anyone any alarm. It had to be either a woman or a man, I
suppose, if he left no children."
"The strange part about the affair, Sam, is this: Young West was not
married. He left this money to the wife of another man with whom he was
madly in love. So far as I can learn, she was equally in love with him.
They were planning an elopement, or something of the sort, when he was
stricken with this illness. He insisted upon leaving her everything."
"You don't say so! Who is she?" asked Mr. Shaw, for the first time
manifesting an interest in his partner's story.
Mr. Brennan took up the will, and, opening it, read aloud, "Edith Pope
Rogers, wife of Donald Evan Rogers, of New York City."
Mr. Shaw arose. He took up from the desk a telephone directory and
consulted it with interest. "Donald Evan Rogers," he presently read,
"mechanical engineer, Columbia Building." He put down the book and
glanced at his partner. "That's the man. I remember him well now. Bright
young fellow, and very hardworking. I took quite a fancy to him. Rather
a queer state of things, I must say." He whistled softly to himself.
"Decidedly so. I have no choice in the matter, of course, but I fancy
this document is likely to cause considerable trouble in the Rogers'
household."
Mr. Shaw wrinkled his brow in a frown. "You don't suppose for a moment
he'd let his wife take this money--unless, of course," he added
reflectively, "she intends to leave him."
Mr. Brennan threw the will upon the table with a snort. "That's the
whole trouble, Sam. The woman had been writing young West every day.
Williams has sent me all her letters to him, along with his other
papers. I've glanced through some of them. She had evidently made up
her mind to leave her husband at once, as soon as West got back from
Denver."
"I don't see that there is anything for you to do but to go ahead with
the matter as the law requires. You are not supposed to know anything
about West's relations with this man's wife. Possibly her husband
doesn't know, either. It is none of your affair."
"I know it, but doesn't it occur to you, Sam, that this is likely to
explode a bombshell in this young fellow's home?"
"Did West know Rogers well?" inquired Mr. Shaw.
"I don't know."
"Why don't you call on them this evening and find out? Possibly the
husband may see nothing queer in this money being left to his wife. West
may have been a friend of his. The woman will say nothing, you may be
sure of that."
"It's the only thing to do, I know, but I can't say that I look forward
to the interview with much pleasure. I thought at first of asking Mrs.
Rogers to come here, and telling her the whole story; but, if I do, she
will of course ask me to keep quiet about the matter, and that will put
me in the position of aiding and abetting her in deceiving her husband.
I want him to be present, when I see her."
"Then I would suggest that you go to their house to-night. You will most
probably find the husband at home." He took up the city directory and
searched its columns carefully. "Here you are," he exclaimed at length.
"Roxborough Apartments, One Hundred and Tenth Street. Drop in on them
this evening, why don't you?"
"I suppose I had better," observed Mr. Brennan slowly, "though I must
say it is a damnably disagreeable task. The case presents some extremely
unpleasant problems."
Mr. Shaw picked up his stick, his gloves, and his newspaper, and began
slowly to button up his coat. "Decidedly so," he observed. "I can't say
I like it. This woman has been on the point of eloping with another man,
who leaves her a large fortune. She might of course refuse to accept it,
or at least dispose of it in some way, but I fail to see how she can do
so, without arousing her husband's suspicions. If, on the other hand,
she can convince him that West left her the money from pure friendship,
and goodness of heart, she places herself in the position of accepting
the money of her lover to spend upon her husband--her children--if she
has any. Pretty rough on the husband, I must say. No self-respecting man
could permit such a thing. The worst of it is that we have got to be a
party to it. What sort of a woman can she be, I wonder?"
"That is just the thing we must determine. Understand, this woman knows
nothing of the will as yet. I confess I feel considerable curiosity as
to what her course of action will be when she learns of it. It's a
mighty difficult position for any woman to be in, there's no denying
that. She may, of course, refuse to accept it at all."
"She couldn't very well. It's hers by law."
"Of course, I understand that. But she could dispose of it in some way,
possibly."
"Not without its looking very queer to her husband." Mr. Shaw moved
toward the office door. "I guess I wouldn't worry about the matter,
Ogden, if I were you. Let them fight it out themselves. After all, it's
their funeral, not ours, you know. If there is anything I can do in the
matter, let me know. Good-night. I've got to hurry." He passed out, the
expression on his face indicating a sort of morose satisfaction. Perhaps
he was congratulating himself upon the fact that he was not married.
Mr. Brennan put the will into his pocket, called in his stenographer,
and spent half an hour in clearing his desk for the night. He tried to
dismiss the matter of the will from his mind as he rode up-town in the
subway, but it persisted with annoying regularity, and prevented his
usual enjoyment of his evening paper. He was a man whose gaunt and
forbidding exterior masked a nature innately kind, and he deeply
regretted the circumstances that forced him to play the part in the
affairs of the Rogers' family which now confronted him. The more he
thought of the matter, the more difficult it became to evolve any course
of action that would obviate the apparently inevitable crash. The law
required that he, as executor of West's estate, should turn over all the
property to Mrs. Rogers, and that duty he could in no way evade. His
conscience told him that to do so in such a way as to hoodwink or
deceive her husband would be wrong, and yet he hesitated to put the
matter in a light that would result in a complete disruption of the
Rogers' domestic affairs. It spoiled his enjoyment of his dinner, which,
being a bachelor, he ate at his club, and it clung to him like a cloak
of gloom all the way up to the Roxborough. It was close to half-past
eight when he entered the vestibule of the apartment house, and, after
inquiring whether Mrs. Rogers was in, sent up his card by the elevator
boy.