VII

The morning of the fifth day since Mrs. Marteen's departure found Gard

in early consultation in the directors' room of his Wall Street office,

facing a board of directors with but one opinion--he must go at once to

Washington. Strangely enough, the plan met with stubborn resistance from

his inner self. There was every reason for his going, but he did not

want to go. His advisers and fellow directors looked in amazement as

they saw him hesitate, and for once the Great Man was at a loss to

explain. He knew, and they knew, that there was nothing that should

detain him, nothing that could by any twist be construed into a valid

excuse for refusal. He amazed himself and them by abruptly rising from

his seat, bunching the muscles of his jaw in evident antagonism and

hurling at them his ultimatum in a voice of defiance.

"Of course, gentlemen, it is evident that I must go, and I will. The

situation requires it. But I ask you to name someone else--the

vice-president, and you, Corrighan--in case something arises to prevent

my leaving the city."

Langley, the lawyer, rose protesting.

"But, Mr. Gard, no one _can_ take your place. It's the penalty, perhaps,

of being what and who you are, but the honor of your responsibilities

demands it. There is more at stake than your own interests, or the

interest of your friends. There's the public, your stockholders. You owe

it to them and to yourself to shoulder this responsibility without any

'ifs,' 'ands' or 'buts.'"

Gard turned as if to rend him. "I have told you I'll go, haven't I?

But--and there _is_ a but--gentlemen, you must select another delegate,

or delegation, in case circumstances arise--"

Denning's voice interrupted from the end of the table. "Gard, what

excuse is the only excuse for not returning one's partner's lead? Sudden

death."

"Or when you _must_ have the lead yourself," snapped Gard. "I cannot go

into this matter with you, gentlemen. The contingency I speak of is very

remote--if it is a contingency at all. But I must be frank. I cannot

have you take my enforced absence, if such should be necessary, as

defalcation or a shirking of my duty--so I warn you."

"The chance is remote," Denning replied in quiet tones that palliated.

"Let us decide, then, who, in case this vague possibility should shape

itself, will act as delegates. I do not think we can improve on the

president's suggestion, but," and he turned to Gard sternly, "I trust

the contingency is _so_ remote that we may consider it an impossibility

for all our sakes, and your own."

Gard did not answer. In silence he heard the motion carried, and

silently and without his usual affability he turned and left the room.

The others eyed each other with open discomfiture.

"Well, gentlemen, the meeting is over," said Denning gloomily. "We may

as well adjourn."

A very puzzled and uneasy group dispersed before the tall marble office

building, while in his own private office Gard paced the floor, from

time to time punching the open palm of his left hand with the clenched

fist of his right, in fury at himself.

"Am I mad--am I mad?" he repeated mechanically. "Has the devil gotten

into me?" His confidential clerk knocked, and seeing the Great Man's

face, paused in trepidation. "What is it? What is it?" snapped Gard.

"There's Brenchcrly, sir, in the outer office. He wouldn't give his

message--said you'd want to see him in private; so I ventured--"

"Brencherly!" Gard's heart missed a beat. He stopped short. He felt the

mysterious dread from which he had suffered to be shaping itself from

the darkness of uncertainty. "Show him in," he ordered, and, turning to

the window, gazed blindly out, centering his self-control. "Well?" he

said without turning, as he heard the door open and close again.

"Mr. Gard," came the quiet voice of the detective, "I've a piece of

information, that, from what you told me the other day, I thought might

interest you. I have found out that Mr. Mahr is making every effort to

find out the combination of Mrs. Marteen's private safe."

"What!"

"Yes. I learned it from one of the men in the Cole agency. Mr. Mahr

didn't come to us. I'm not betraying any trust, you see. It was Balling,

one of the cleverest men they've got, but he drinks. I was out with him

last night, and he let it out; he said it was the rummiest job they'd

had in a long day, and that his chief wouldn't have taken it, but he had

a lot of commissions from Mahr, and I guess, besides, he gave some

reason for wanting it that sort of squared him. Anyhow, that's how it

stands."

"Have they got it?" Gard demanded.

"No, they hadn't, but he said they expected to land it O.K. They know

the make, and they've got access to the company's books, and the

company's people, and if she hasn't changed the combination lately,

they'll land that all right. I tried to find out if they'd put anyone

into the apartment, but Balling sobered up a bit by that time and shut

down on the talk. But it's dollars to doughnuts he's after something,

and they've put a flattie around somewhere. Of course I don't know how

this frames up with what you told me about young Mahr, but I thought you

might dope it out, perhaps."

Gard sat down before his writing table, and wrote out a substantial

cheque.

"There, Brencherly, that's for you. Thank you. Now I put you on this

officially. Find out for me, if you can, if they have put anyone in the

house. Find out what they're after. Anything at all that concerns this

matter is of interest to me. Put a man to shadow Balling; have a watch

put on anyone you think is acting for Mahr. I will take it upon myself

to have the combination changed. I'll send a message to Mrs. Marteen."

Brencherly shook his head. "If you do that they'll tumble to you, Mr.

Gard. It's an even chance Mr. Mahr would have any messages reported. He

could, you know; he's a pretty important stockholder in the transmission

companies. You'd better have a watchman or an alarm attachment on the

safe, if you can."

Gard sat silent. He was reasoning out the motive of Mahr's move. Did

Mrs. Marteen still retain evidence against him which he was anxious to

obtain during her absence? It seemed the obvious conclusion, and yet

there was the possibility that Mahr contemplated vengeance, that in the

safe he hoped to obtain evidence against Mrs. Marteen herself that would

put her into his hands. On the whole, that seemed the most likely

explanation, and one that offered such possibilities that he ground his

teeth. He was roused from his reverie by Brencherly's hesitating voice.

"I think, Mr. Gard, I'd better go at once. I want to get a trailer after

Balling, and if I'm a good guesser, we haven't any time to lose."

"You're right; go on. I was thinking what precautions had best be taken

at Mrs. Marteen's home. I'll plan that--you do the rest. Good-by."

Brencherly sidled to the door, bowed and disappeared.

The telephone bell on the table rang sharply. Gard took down the

receiver absently, but the voice that trembled over the wire startled

him like an electric shock. It was Dorothy's, but changed almost beyond

recognition, a frightened, uncertain little treble.

"Is this Mr. Gard?" A sigh of relief greeted his affirmative. "Please,

please, Mr. Gard, can I see you right away?"

"Where are you, Dorothy? Of course; I'm at your service always. What is

it?" he asked, conscious that his own voice betrayed his agitation.

"I'm downstairs, in the building. You don't mind, do you?"

"Mind! Come up at once--or I'll send down for you."

"No--I'm coming now; thank you so much."

The receiver clicked, and Gard, anxious and puzzled, pressed the desk

button for his man.

"Miss Marteen is coming. Show her in here."

A moment later Dorothy entered. Her face was pale and her eyes seemed

doubled in size. She sat down in the chair he advanced for her, as if no

longer able to stand erect, gave a little gasp and burst into tears.

"Dorothy, Dorothy!" begged Gard, distressed beyond measure. "Come, come,

little girl, what is the matter? Tell me!"

She continued to sob, but reaching blindly for his hand, seemed to find

encouragement and assurance in his firm clasp. At last she steadied

herself, wiped her eyes and faced him.

"This morning," she began faintly, "a messenger brought this." From an

inner pocket she took out a crumpled letter, and laid it on the table.

"I didn't know what to do. Read it--read it!" she blazed. "It's too

horrid--too cowardly--too wicked!"

He picked up the envelope. It was directed to Dorothy in typewritten

characters. The paper was of the cheapest. He withdrew the enclosure,

closely covered with typewriting, glanced over the four pages and turned

to the end. Then he read through.

Gard crushed the letter in his hand in a frenzy of fury. So this--this

was Mahr's objective, this the cowardly vengeance his despicable mind

had evolved! He would strike his enemy through the heart of a child--he

would humiliate the girl so that, with shame and horror, she would turn

away from all that life held for her! He knew that if the bolt found

lodgment in her heart she would consider herself a thing too low, too

smirched, to face her world. The marriage, that Mahr feared and hated,

would never take place. Doubtless that evidence which Mrs. Marteen had

once wielded was now in his possession and with all precautions taken he

was fearless of any retaliation. The obscurity and exile he suggested

would be sought as the only issue from intolerable conditions. No, no, a

thousand times no! Mahr had leveled his stroke at a defenseless girl,

but the weapon that should parry it would be wielded by a man's strong

arm, backed by all the resources of brain and wealth.

As these thoughts raced through his mind, he had been standing erect and

silent, his eyes staring at the paper that crackled in his clenched

fist. Dorothy's voice sounded far away repeating something. It was not

till a strange hysterical note crept into her voice that he realized

what she was saying.

"Speak to me, please! What shall I do? What ought I to do? Tell me, tell

me!"

"Do?" he exclaimed. "Do? Why, nothing, my dear. It's a damnable,

treacherous snake-in-the-grass lie! Shake it out of your pretty head,

and leave me to trace this thing and deal with the scoundrel who wrote

it; and I'll promise you, my dear, that it will be such punishment as

will satisfy _me_--and I am not easily satisfied."

Dorothy rose from the table. "Mr. Gard," she whispered, "you won't think

badly of me, will you, if I tell you something? And you will believe it

wasn't because I believed one word of that detestable thing that I did

what I did--you promise me that?"

He could feel his face grow ashen, but his voice was very gentle. "What

was it, my dear? Of course I know you couldn't have noticed such a vile

slander. What do you want to tell me?"

"I was frightened." Dorothy raised brimming eyes to his, pleading excuse

for what she felt must seem lack of faith. "I felt as if the house were

filled with dangerous people. I wanted to see how much they really knew.

I never heard mother speak of the safe in the library. I didn't want to

speak to Tante Lydia. I--"

Gard's heart stood still. "You went to the library and located the

safe--and then?"

"The combination they give is the right one--I opened it with that. Then

I was so terrified that anyone--a wicked person like that--could know so

much about things in our house--I slammed it shut and ran away. I could

not stay in the house another minute. I felt as if I were suffocating."

The sigh that he drew was one of immeasurable relief. "Well, you are

awake now, my dear, and the goblin sha'n't chase you any more. But I'm

greatly troubled about what you tell me, about your having opened the

safe. I want you to come with me now. Is your aunt home? Yes? Well, I'll

telephone my sister to call for her and take her out somewhere. Then

we'll return, and I will take all the responsibility of what I think

it's best to do. One thing is quite evident: your mother's valuables are

not safe, if they haven't already been tampered with and stolen. You

see--well, I'll explain as we go. I'll get rid of Mrs. Mellows first."

A few telephone calls arranged matters, and a message brought his motor

from its neighboring waiting place. "You see," he continued, as the

machine throbbed its way northward, "there are several possibilities.

One is, that this anonymous person is mad. In that case, we can't take

too many precautions. The ingenuity of the insane is proverbial. Then,

this may be a vicious vengeance; someone who hates your splendid mother,

and would hurt her through you. You can see that if you had believed

this detestable story it would have broken her heart. Now such a person,

hoping that you would investigate, would have been quite capable of

stocking your mother's secret compartment with stuff that at the first

glance would have seemed to substantiate the story. You see, they knew

all about the combination and the inner compartment, and they must have

had access to your home. They probably took you for a silly little fool,

full of curiosity, and counted on the shock of falling into their trap

being so great that you would be in no condition to reason matters out;

that you and your mother would be hopelessly estranged, or at least that

you would so hurt and distress her that they could gloat over her

unhappiness. You know you are the one thing she loves in all the world,

Dorothy."

He had talked looking straight ahead of him, striving to give his words

judicial weight. Now he glanced down at Dorothy's face. It was calm, and

a little color was returning to her cheeks. She pressed his hand

fervently.

"But it's so wicked!" she repeated. "It frightens me to think of such

viciousness so near to us, and we don't know and can't guess who it is."

"We'll find a clew. I'll have detectives to watch the house, and to

trace the messenger who brought that letter, if possible. Say nothing to

anyone, not even to Tante Lydia. Perhaps it would be best not to worry

your mother at all about it. She's not well, you see. In the meantime,

I'm going to take everything out of the safe, and transfer it to my own.

I'll make a list. Then we'll change the combination."

"Oh, I wish I'd come to you the very first minute," sighed Dorothy.

"You're such a tower of strength, and you make everything so easy and

simple. I'm ashamed of my fright, and my crying like a baby. You are so

good to me--I--I just love you."

For a second she rested her head on his shoulder with an abandon of

childlike confidence, and his heart thrilled. His inner consciousness,

however, warned him that a deeper motive than his desire to save Dorothy

actuated him--he must shield the mother from the danger that had

threatened the one vulnerable point in her armor of indifference, the

love and respect of her child.

At the apartment, inquiry for Aunt Lydia elicited the information that

the lady had that moment left in company with Miss Gard, and the two

conspirators proceeded alone to the library.

Gard closed the door, drew the heavy leather curtain, and turned

questioningly to Dorothy. With slow, reluctant movements she approached

the wall, released the panel and exposed the front of the safe. With

inexpert fingers, she set the combination and pulled back the door.

"Where is the spring?" demanded Gard. He could not bear to have her

touch what might lie behind the second partition. "Here, dear, take out

these jewel cases and see if they are all right." He swept the velvet

and morocco boxes into her hands, and felt better as he heard their

clattering fall upon the table. He paused, listening for an instant to

the beating of his own heart. He pressed the spring, and with swimming

eyes looked at what the shelves revealed. "Dorothy," he called, and his

voice was brittle as thin glass, "take a pencil and make a list as I

dictate: One package of government bonds; a sheaf of bills, marked

$2,000; two small boxes, wrapped and sealed; three large envelopes,

sealed; two vouchers pinned together. Have you got that? I'll take

possession for the present. Make a copy of that list for me." He snapped

fast the inner door, and turned as he thrust the last of the packets

into an inner pocket. "Now, thank you, my dear; and how about the

valuables?"

"There's nothing missing," said Dorothy, handing him a written slip,

"except things I know mother took with her. So robbery wasn't the

motive. I think you must be right. It's some crank. But, oh, if you only

knew how afraid I am to stay here! I'm afraid of my own shadow; I'm

afraid of the clock chimes; when the telephone rings I'm in a panic.

Don't you think I could go away somewhere, with Tante Lydia--just go

away?"

Gard grasped at the suggestion. He could be sure that she would be

beyond the reach of Mahr and his poisonous vengeance until he had time

to crush him once and for all.

"Yes," he nodded, "you should go away. This crank may be dangerous. We

know he is cunning. You should go with your chaperon--say nothing about

where to anyone, not to a soul, mind; not to the servants here, not even

to Teddy Mahr. Just run down incognito to Atlantic City or Lakewood, or

better still, to some little place where you are not known. Write your

polite little notes, and say your first season has been too strenuous,

and run away. When can you go? To-night? To-morrow morning?"

"Yes, I could be ready to-night; but what shall we say to Tante Lydia?"

"Half the truth," he answered. "I'll take the responsibility. I'll tell

her I've been informed by my private people that an anonymous person has

been threatening you; that they are trying to locate him; and that as he

is known to be dangerous, I've advised your leaving at once and quietly.

I'll tell her a few of my experiences in that line, that will make her

believe that 'discretion is the better part of valor.'" He laughed

bitterly. "The kind attentions I've had in the way of infernal machines

and threats by telephone and letter. And I see only a few, you know.

What my secretaries stop and the police get on to besides would exhaust

one. It's the penalty of the limelight, my dear. But don't take this too

seriously. I'll have everything in hand in a day or two. Now I'm off to

put your mother's valuables in a place of safety. Let's stow those jewel

cases in a handbag. Can you lend me one?" She left the room and returned

presently with a traveling case, into which Gard tossed the elaborate

boxes without ceremony. "I've been thinking," he said presently, "that

my sister's place in Westchester is open. She goes down often for week

ends. There's a train at eight that will get you in by nine-thirty, and

I can telephone instructions to meet you and have everything ready. If

you motored down, you see, the chauffeur would know and you must be

quite incognito. It'll be dead quiet, my dear, but you need a rest, and

we can keep in touch with one another so easily."

Dorothy leaned forward and gazed at him with burning eyes. "You are so

good," she murmured. "Of course I'll go. I know mother would want me

to--don't you think so?"

He smiled grimly. "I'm certain she would. Now here are your directions;

I'll attend to all the rest. All you have to do is pack. I'll send for

you." He wrote for a moment, handed Dorothy the slip and began a note of

explanation for Mrs. Mellows. "There," he said, as he handed over the

missive for Dorothy's approval, "that covers the case. And now, my dear,

the rest is my affair, and whoever he is--may God have mercy on his

soul!"

* * * * *