MR. CALLISTER'S CLERK.
"Ketchum & Bustem, eight hundred Wabash common, buyer three!"
"All right, Ketchum & Bustem--there you are."
Out of a little hole in the glass partition, which divided the interior
of Mr. Elijah Callister's office, Room 62, ---- Building, Broad street,
from the portion which was open to the outside public, a hand was
thrust, passing back a receipt book to the waiting messenger of the
well-known firm of Ketchum & Bustem, brokers on Broadway.
As no further messengers appeared, the transactions of Mr. Callister
upon the board that day having been small, the door of the glass
partition was presently thrown open, and a young man, neatly dressed,
with a pen thrust behind his ear appeared, and began to walk up and
down the office with a meditative air.
He was to all appearance of some twenty-eight or twenty-nine years of
age, certainly not over thirty at the most.
Tall and straight, with light hair, which he wore long about the neck,
and mustache and side whiskers, trimmed in the latest style.
Now, as the office was vacant, save for his own presence, this new
stock clerk of Mr. Callister's--for it is this young man who has
secured the position in the stock broker's office, the advertisement of
which had attracted the keen eyes of Detective Hook, fell to thinking,
and, as is the foolish custom of some people when alone, thinking aloud:
"And so this is the beginning of my third week here," he muttered, as
he paced the office floor up and down, in momentary expectation of the
return of his employer from the closing of the Stock Exchange, "and so
far all goes well. Mr. Callister certainly does not suspect me--has not
from the first. That letter of Hook's procured from his cousin, the
president of the Exchange, did the business; he hired me without the
least suspicion in the world.
"And to think that I should have been able to play this part for
two whole weeks," he continued; "but I have done it, and I flatter
myself that it has been well performed. Not for a moment has this man
mistrusted that I am other than what I seem, while on my part I have
learned much that will be invaluable----"
Here his reflections were interrupted by the entry of the broker
himself.
He was as suave and sleek as ever. To use an old-fashioned expression,
butter could not have melted in his mouth.
"Ah, Mr. Maxwell, you are alone, I see. Although forced by
circumstances to remain indoors, you are enjoying the beautiful
afternoon, I trust?"
"I am, Mr. Callister, as well as one can from the window away up here
above the street."
"Just so, Mr. Maxwell. My offices are somewhat elevated, but so much
nearer to Heaven, my dear sir--so much nearer to Heaven--and when you
come to consider, there is much that is beautiful in the thought. Have
Ketchum & Bustem reported that lot of Wabash?"
"Yes, sir."
"And Brownell & Popkins the Brazilian sixes?"
"Yes, Mr. Callister. Those were reported an hour ago."
"Very good, Mr. Maxwell--very good, indeed. I have some important
papers to prepare, and shall now retire to my private office. If any
one calls, show them in."
"Very well, Mr. Callister."
"And, Maxwell?"
"Sir."
"Should you feel so inclined, I should be pleased to see you at our
prayer-meeting to-morrow night, at the Tenth Baptist Church. I take the
deepest interest in the welfare of all young men."
Thereupon, Mr. Elijah Callister, smiling blandly, entered his private
office, closed and locked the door.
"You old hypocrite!" muttered the clerk, shaking his fist at the oaken
panels. "You miserable, canting fraud. Never would I have believed
you to be what you are had I not witnessed your duplicity and double
dealing now daily for the past two weeks with my own eyes."
And the assumed Mr. Maxwell, in whom no one, not even, we venture to
say, Caleb Hook himself, had he not been in the secret, would have
recognized our young friend, Frank Mansfield, resumed his seat at the
desk behind the glass partition, and began figuring away upon a large
book of accounts.
Yes, it was Frank Mansfield.
Detective Hook's plan had succeeded to the letter.
For two weeks he had been an inmate of the business office of the man
who had plotted his ruin.
And during that short lapse of time many things had occurred.
Let us narrate them briefly, as they are highly essential to a correct
understanding of subsequent events.
In the first place, the matter of the Webster bank robbery remains
still a mystery. It is generally believed that Frank Mansfield was at
least a participant in the crime, a guilty tool of the thieves.
From the moment of his escape from Officer Schneider, the whereabouts
of that young gentleman have been a matter of mystery to the world.
When, through the accident which had happened to Detective Hook, the
burglar Joe Dutton had been captured with his basket of stolen dollars
at the Catherine Market, it had been thought by the police authorities
that a speedy solution of the mystery was at hand.
They were mistaken.
During the four days of his confinement in the Tombs the captured
criminal could not be persuaded to utter a word.
On the morning of the fifth day burglar Joe Dutton was found lying dead
upon the floor of his cell.
Upon the same day occurred the funeral of the murdered Mrs. Marley.
Through some unknown source a lot had been purchased in a suburban
cemetery. Detective Hook and Frank Mansfield, concealed within a closed
carriage, were the sole mourners who followed to the grave.
Not the slightest clew to the perpetrator of this cowardly murder had
been obtained by the police, but then they had not exerted themselves
very violently, you see.
Mrs. Marley was only a poor, half crazy woman--there was no money in
the case.
But in the busy rush of New York already were these matters well-nigh
forgotten.
The robbery of the Webster bank, the disappearance of Frank Mansfield,
and the murder of Mrs. Marley were all things of the past.
Maxwell, the clerk, had been engaged at his books not over an hour--and
even that short space of time had sufficed to bring the short winter's
day nearly to a close--when the office door again opened and a flashily
dressed young man smoking a long cigar entered.
"Callister about?" he asked, with an air of general proprietorship of
the whole establishment.
Mr. Maxwell peeped through the little round opening in the glass
partition and immediately opened the door.
"He's in, but very busy," he replied, stepping into the outer room.
"Tell him Detective Cutts wants to see him, will you, young feller?"
said the individual with the cigar.
Now the appearance of Mr. Billy Cutts, police detective, as a visitor
at the stock broker's office caused the newly engaged clerk no surprise.
The fact was, Detective Cutts had been a daily caller upon Mr.
Callister for more than a week.
Of the nature of the man's business Maxwell, the clerk, was unaware,
but it appeared to be involved in much mystery, and was invariably
conducted behind locked doors.
"Mr. Cutts, sir," said the clerk, as the door of the broker's office
was opened in response to his knock.
"Show him in, Mr. Maxwell. Show him in," was the bland reply.
And during that momentary glimpse of the interior of the private
office, the assumed Maxwell saw that the desk was littered with papers
and large drawings, closely resembling architects' plans, strange
things to be seen in a stock broker's office, to say the least.
Detective Cutts had not been closeted with Mr. Callister ten minutes,
when the door of the outer office opened again, and a sweet, womanly
voice was heard inquiring for the broker without the glass partition.
As the voice fell upon the ears of the disguised Frank Mansfield his
heart seemed to rise in his throat.
It was the voice of Miss Edna Callister, loved by him as deeply as her
father was despised.
By the earnest advice of Detective Hook, to whom the young man had
confided his tender feelings for this beautiful girl, Frank had
refrained from visiting the object of his affection or holding any
communication with her at all.
Difficult and trying as this had been, it was certainly a wise
precaution, as can be readily seen.
How much under the influence of her father the girl might be it was
impossible to tell.
Not that Frank loved her the less for the wrong that parent had
attempted to do him. But he now saw things by a new and less selfish
light than ever before.
Had he the right to aspire to the affections of the daughter, when
against the father he was working night and day?
The severest test to which his disguise had yet been subjected was now
about to occur.
Could the eyes of love be deceived?
There was no time to hesitate, and Frank, mastering all his
self-control, stepped from behind the glass partition into the office
beyond.
"Mr. Callister is engaged just at present, miss. Will you please to
give me your name, and I will let him know that you are here."
"Say to him that Miss Callister would like to see him," replied the
young lady, her clear blue eyes resting upon the face of the clerk.
"Please be seated. I will inform him at once."
"Edna, you here!" exclaimed the broker, in tones of surprise, as he
hurriedly emerged from the office, closing the door carefully behind
him, not, however, without enabling the watchful eyes of the disguised
clerk to catch a glimpse of Detective Cutts poring over the plans upon
the desk within.
"Yes, father," replied the girl, coldly, "I am here, as you see."
"Mr. Maxwell, oblige me by stepping out into the hall a moment," said
the broker, hurriedly. "I wish to speak with my daughter alone, and Mr.
Cutts is too busy to be disturbed."
Frank obeyed.
Evidently Mr. Callister had forgotten the open fan-light above the
door, which afforded ample opportunity for any one in the hall outside
who chose to stand close beneath it and listen to hear every loud word
spoken within. Otherwise he might have lowered his voice a trifle,
perhaps even have spoken less harshly than he did.
"What brings you here, girl?" were the first words the listener heard.
"How many times have I told you not to come to this office?"
"It makes no difference," was the reply of the daughter, in clear,
ringing tones. "I come here because I choose to come. Knowing you as I
do, father, I have long since ceased to love you. Can you then expect
me to obey?"
"I'll find means to force obedience if you don't give it willingly.
What do you want?"
"To know what you have done with Frank Mansfield."
"Impertinent jade! Why do you come to inquire of the movements of that
young rascal from me? I have told you already that I know nothing of
him at all. His companions, the bank robbers, could tell you, perhaps.
Hunt them out and ask them."
"I am convinced from the remark you let fall in my presence last night
that you know more of Frank than you choose to tell. He left me to come
to you for the purpose of asking your consent to our marriage, and has
not been seen since. What have you done with him, I ask again?"
"Oh, yes, he has. You forgot the trifling fact that your beloved was
caught in the act of robbing the Webster Bank."
"I don't believe it--I will never believe it. I demand to know what you
have done with Frank. I know only too well that it is for your interest
to put him out of the way."
"You are a silly fool!" the voice of the father was heard to angrily
exclaim. "Go back to your dolls and your playthings. If I catch you
here again I will lock you up on bread and water for a month."
To this speech there was no reply, but at the same instant the door of
the office opened.
The disguised listener drew hurriedly back.
He was not quick enough, however, to avoid coming face to face with the
daughter of his employer.
Their eyes met.
It was for an instant only, but in that instant the pale face of the
girl blushed rosy red.
Love penetrates all disguises.
Frank saw instantly that his was no longer of avail so far as those
loving eyes were concerned.
"Shall I assist you to the elevator, Miss Callister?" he asked,
quietly, stepping to her side.
"If you please, sir."
And they stood together by the door of the elevator shaft, the car at
that moment being seen descending from the story above.
Suddenly the girl, extending her dainty, gloved hand grasped that of
the youth within her own.
"I still visit the old place," she whispered, hurriedly. "Oh, Frank,
to know that you are alive and well lifts a great load from my heart.
Never doubt that it still beats alone for you."
The door is flung open--the elevator has come.
The door is closed--the elevator has gone.
And Frank Mansfield, turning, beheld the tall form of Elijah Callister
regarding him malevolently from the threshold of the open office beyond.