AND CONVERTS A GOAL
Phil Kendrick sipped his drink with what he flattered himself was a
fine show of unconcern. He even smacked his lips and complimented Mr.
Lawson upon the tang of that phosphate mixture he had invented; for it
was indeed of fine flavor, quite a delightful beverage.
"I believe you mentioned last night that Miss Lawson had gone in for
some kind of newspaper work--was on the staff of the _Recorder_, if I
remember rightly," said Phil with an air of one who makes conversation
for the sake of politeness. "I know the sporting editor of that paper
and I have heard McAllister spoken of as one of the livest and most
conscientious editors in the country. His staff swears by him.
Is--er--Miss Lawson still with the _Recorder_?"
She was. And very fond of her work. She had been inclined towards
literary matters almost since she was old enough to read. She wrote
her first verses when she was ten, although if she knew that her dad
was giving that away she would box his ears, and Nathaniel Lawson
laughed to himself reminiscently.
Two things were plain to Kendrick as he listened with interest to Old
Nat's homily upon the caprices of the eternal feminine--that this
high-spirited motherless girl and her father were very close to each
other and, paradoxically, that he knew nothing of her present
masquerade as a stenographer in Ferguson's office. For masquerade it
evidently was, and Kendrick's mind raced along new channels of
speculation which this realization opened up.
He was eager to get away and at the risk of discourtesy he emptied his
glass rather hurriedly, refused a second one, refused an invitation to
stay to lunch, and once outside the grounds fled in untoward haste.
He went up the stairs at the _Recorder_ building two steps at a time
and found himself at last in the little cubbyhole where Chic White sat,
surrounded by walls that were papered with half-tone pictures of
pugilists, baseball and football stars, and other athletic celebrities.
Phil was rather amused to note his own picture in football togs among
the rest. It served to open a desultory conversation which had no
bearing at all upon the object of his visit. It was some minutes
before he finally veered to the subject of women in athletics and from
that to women in newspaper work and from that again to the women
members of the _Recorder's_ staff. In response to his somewhat too
casual enquiry concerning Miss Lawson, Chic sat back and grinned
provokingly.
"Sure Mike! She's on the staff," he admitted after indulging in that
disgusting habit of his, an extra-dry spit. "She does special
assignments for McAllister. Fact is, she's out of town now on one of
'em."
He eyed Kendrick shrewdly.
"Some doll, eh? But you aint got a look-in, Ken. Why say, boy, there
aint a guy on this rag that wouldn't walk up a church aisle with Cris
Lawson any old time she passed the high sign. She's got 'em all
buffaloed. But they say she 'n' the Boss understand each other pretty
well. Anyway she's sportin' a solitaire," and again White grinned and
spat deliberately.
Phil got out as fast as he could. He was in a strange state of
exhilaration at his discovery which not all the gossip of a hundred
newspaper offices nor all the solitaire diamond rings that ever were
could have dampened just then.
He hastened now to the office of Blatchford Ferguson over at the
Brokers' Bank Building, buttonholed Conway and informed him that he had
an important message for Miss Williams which he must deliver in person
at once. Only to have Conway shake his head. Miss Williams was not
there any more--had handed in her resignation last night.
"Rather sudden, wasn't it?"
"I should say so! We all knew she was here only temporarily, but she
certainly left rather suddenly. Young Roy over there was awfully stuck
on her; he hasn't been fit to live with all day."
"Do you know where I could catch her now? Did she leave any address?"
"Why no, she didn't," replied Conway. "I believe she expected to be
married soon to a chap in Buffalo and I rather think that's where she
went."
Kendrick bit his lip for a moment, considering. Then he asked for the
telephone directory, thought better of it and decided to call at the
office of the Alderson Construction Company unheralded. The young man
who came to the counter was Jimmy Stiles himself, Kendrick surmised;
but he merely asked to see Mr. James Stiles.
"That's my name," said the bookkeeper, casting a glance of quick
suspicion at the caller.
"Glad to know you, Mr. Stiles," smiled Kendrick, holding out his hand,
and he passed his card, dropping his voice to a more confidential tone.
"I wonder if you'll do me the honor to take lunch with me in an hour's
time, or if that's not convenient----?"
"Why? What do you want?" Stiles' face paled slightly, Kendrick
thought. He glanced over his shoulder rather nervously, too, as if
fearful of surveillance. "I--You are a stranger to me, sir. I do not
see why--that is, do not know what----" Plainly he was embarrassed by
the invitation.
"I want to talk to you on several important matters of considerable
interest to yourself. I have some questions to ask you concerning Miss
Cristy Lawson," said Kendrick directly.
"Oh, you have? How d'you know I got answers to them?" There was no
question about the pallor of young Stiles now. "She aint nothin' in my
young life an' I don't know 's I got the time."
"Listen here, Stiles," said Kendrick sharply. "I'd advise you to meet
me as I suggest--in your own interests, let us say. I happen to know a
few things which must be cleared up at once and only you can do it.
Understand? You don't want me to start something and--well, spill the
beans? Do you?"
"Wh--what--er--beans?" stammered Stiles, plainly frightened.
"I'm not talking about Boston baked anyway," smiled Phil. "You won't
get hurt if you play fair with me." He frowned. "I guess you know
what I'm referring to. Will you take lunch with me and talk it over
pleasantly or do you want me to go and see--Nickleby?
"Well, we aint buyin' no more stationery just now, sir. Call again
some time. Perhaps later on we may be needin' somethin'."
"Oh, very well then," nodded Kendrick easily, at once sensing the
effort of a clerk to overhear the conversation--a man who had sauntered
over to the counter and was making pretense of examining a directory
within earshot of the two. "Our carbon paper is exceptionally fine.
If I call some day about--shall we say twelve-thirty?"
"Yes, that hour will be O.K., sir," he said aloud. "Thanks. Meet me
at the corner," he added in a whisper.
So Jimmy Stiles was being watched in that office, thought Phil as he
went down in the elevator. What for? Who by? A couple more questions
to add to his collection. Well, they'd go over to the Island residence
for their lunch where they would be undisturbed. He had telephoned
already to Mrs. Parlby to serve luncheon for two, and dropped into the
National Club to fill in the interval till twelve-thirty.
Sharp on time Stiles put in an appearance at the appointed place, but
he demurred upon learning where Kendrick was proposing to take him.
"Gee Whiz! I got to get back to the office inside an hour," he
objected.
"I'll promise to get you back on time," assured Phil. "The launch is
moored down at the Canoe Club and she can do forty-five under pressure."
In spite of Kendrick's efforts at conversation on the way over, it was
plain that his guest was ill at ease; but it was not until they were
comfortably seated in the library that he undertook to relieve the
bookkeeper's anxiety to know what was in his mind.
"I think perhaps your appetite will be improved, Jimmy, if we talk
before we eat," smiled Phil. He offered his cigarette-case. "There is
no reason why you and I should not be good friends."
Having first satisfied himself that there was no doubt whatever of
young Stiles' loyalty to Nathaniel Lawson, he proceeded to recount
briefly the events which had led up to his discovery of the real
identity of Miss Margaret Williams. The extent of Kendrick's evident
knowledge startled Stiles, if his nervousness was any criterion.
"Miss Lawson was masquerading in Ferguson's office for some reason. I
caught her listening at the keyhole while Podmore was interviewing
Ferguson day before yesterday. You might begin by explaining why she
should report all this to you, Stiles, and why you tried to follow me
last night after I left Mr. Lawson. I know that Miss Lawson is a
valued member of the _Recorder_ staff. Now, what about it?"
"She's doin' some special stunt for the paper," Stiles nodded after a
little hesitation. "We've been good friends for quite a while, but
there aint no reason why she should tell me all she knows, is there?
She came to me yesterday an' asked me to keep an eye on your movements
for a bit. She said you were workin' with Podmore an' that you an' him
had swiped some envelope from Mr. Wade, the railroad president, and
hidden it."
"That's what comes of listening at keyholes. Go on."
"That's all, Mr. Kendrick. She was kind of worried over you callin' on
her father an' give me Hail Columbia for losin' sight of you last night
after she'd gone to the trouble of pointin' you out to me. But I aint
no dime novel detective!"
"Why should she be interested in my movements?"
"Search me!"
"Why did those two fellows jump on you last night? Don't say they were
after your watch. Tell me the truth."
"Well, you seen how they was watchin' me at the office to-day, didn't
you? I've been watched like that ever since----" Stiles stopped short
in some confusion.
"Ever since the theft of the satchel containing fifty thousand
dollars," prompted Kendrick. "I know all about that. It's all right.
Go on."
But for a moment Stiles was stricken dumb by this cool speech.
"Who told you about that?" he demanded in a scared tone. "Say, how'd
it be if you told me what's your side in this little gab-fest? Who you
workin' for? Police? Nickleby? Say, you aint crazy enough to think I
had anything to do with the disappearance of that bunch of coin, are
you?"
"Hardly," smiled Phil. He handed over Benjamin Wade's letter of
introduction, "to whom it may concern." The change which perusal of
these credentials wrought in Jimmy Stiles was at once noticeable. He
relaxed in his chair with a breath of relief and laughed.
"Why didn't you say in the first place you were Wade's private
secretary?" he protested. "Gee whiz! Now I know where I'm at--if it's
true," he added suspiciously, suddenly sitting erect again. "Miss
Lawson said she heard Podmore tell Ferguson you hid that envelope for
him in a stump up in the bush near some watertank or other after he'd
pinched it from Mr. Wade's private car, and that you two fellows were
friends an' had both got fired by Wade because you wouldn't tell where
the envelope was."
"It isn't wise to believe everything one hears, Jimmy,--through
key-holes," advised Kendrick. "That's all a bluff. It was Mr. Wade's
idea that by pretending to be friendly toward Podmore I might get a
line on something. We framed up the whole thing on Podmore."
"But the envelope really was swiped an' hid in the stump, wasn't it?"
"Yes, I left it there at Mr. Wade's suggestion."
"With all that money in it?"
"The bills were bogus--just stage money."
"What!" cried Stiles in excitement. "Gee-whilikins! Is that right,
Mr. Kendrick?" His mouth opened in what seemed to be fear as well as
astonishment. "But of course it's right. That's what he wanted me to
get that duplicate envelope for. Gosh! why didn't we think of that
last night?"
He got up and took a turn across the room and back in his agitation.
"You surely didn't expect--?" began Kendrick in considerable surprise.
"We haven't known what to expect," interrupted Stiles anxiously.
"Anything--everything!--with fifty thousand dollars of election money
kicking around loose. Why, Miss Lawson's been on the trail of this
campaign fund contribution ever since that night when--that is to
say----" For a second time Jimmy Stiles paused uncertainly.
Kendrick had a flash of inspiration. He sprang to his feet, reaching
excitedly into his pocket.
"Has Miss Lawson ever owned a pin like this? Is this her's?" and he
unfolded the dollar bill and held out the blouse pin for inspection.
"Sure, that's her's. She told me she lost one from her best
hand-painted set in your canoe that night."
Kendrick sat down in the nearest chair and laughed as if Stiles had
said something which was exceedingly witty. The outburst was so
spontaneous and unaccountable that the bookkeeper stared at him. He
could not know that Phil would laugh with equal abandon just then if
somebody were to inform him that the real reason a hen crosses the road
is to get to the other side.
"She seems to have taken you pretty well into her confidence, Jimmy.
Perhaps you can tell me who her escort was that night of the fog--a Joe
Somebody."
"Oh, that was me. I paddled her across the bay that night. We agreed
to call each other by fake names in case anybody heard us talking.
When she got into your canoe by mistake I was only about ten yards
away, but I was scared to move. I knew she could take care of herself."
Again Phil laughed. But Stiles was growing impatient and his worried
look returned.
"Say, never mind all that, Mr. Kendrick, please. We've got to do
something about this other thing right away quick. Nickleby's been
havin' Podmore watched an' he had a seance yesterday afternoon with the
fellow that's doing it. There's liable to be others setting out with
the same idea she had----"
"What do you mean?" demanded Kendrick, seriously.
"Miss Lawson took the train west last night to get that darn envelope
you hid in the stump in the woods----"
"Good heavens!"
"I told her she oughtn't to try it," went on Stiles earnestly. "She's
liable to run into all sorts of trouble. But she wouldn't listen to me
for a minute. She aint scared of anything, Miss Lawson aint, an' she
thinks it's real money she's rescuing all by her lonesome."
"You don't mean to say she went all _alone_?" asked Phil in dismay.
"That's just it. She wouldn't have it any other way."
They gazed at each other with sober faces.