In His Hands
In contemplation of the money Storm was stirred despite his
sang-froid. Horton’s psychology had been sound; it was one thing to
deal in figures and quite another to view the actual cash before one.
“This is some money!” He unconsciously adopted his companion’s slang.
“I don’t wonder you go heeled, as you call it, with that much at
stake!”
“I’ve handled twice as much during the war, when we were speeding up
production to the limit,” Horton boasted as he fastened the bag and
placed it on the floor at his feet. “Twice as much and then some, and
never lost a cent! I’m not taking any chances, though; the
constabulary down there do their part, and a wonderful lot of fellows
they are, but they can’t be everywhere at once. The last guy that held
my job was found in a thicket by the road with his head bashed in. The
birds that got him were caught, but a lot of good it did him! No,
_sir_. I take mighty good care not to land in his shoes!”
A hundred and twelve thousand dollars! The figures themselves held an
odd fascination for Storm, and he could not keep his eyes from
straying to the bag.
“I had an experience out in Montana in the early days when I was new
to the game.” Horton settled back once more luxuriously into his
chair. “I was only carrying five thousand then, but it looked as big
as a million to me, and I don’t mind telling you that I was plumb
scared of the responsibility. I had a wild bit of road to cover
between the town and the mine, and I jumped at every shadow. We had a
rough lot out there, too; scum of the earth, even for a raw mining
camp. One night four guys that we had turned off laid for me; they’d
have done for me, too, only by sheer dumb luck I got the drop on them
first. I held ’em there, all four of ’em, till a gang of our own men
came along, but it was a narrow squeak for me! Lord, but I was one
sick _hombre_!”
He chuckled reminiscently, but his host did not smile. Instead, his
lips tightened and an avid gleam came into his eyes. A hundred and
twelve thousand dollars! What it would mean to him! If he had Jack’s
opportunity——!
“There was another time down in Mexico.” His guest was in the flood
tide of garrulity now, all unconscious of the train of thought his
innocent display had evoked. “A couple of greasers tried to stick me
up, but I drilled a hole in one of them, and the other beat it for the
hills. It’s tame here in the East compared to those days, but there’s
always a chance of trouble in my game.”
How ridiculously small and flimsy the black bag looked to contain such
tremendous potentialities! All that Du Chainat’s alluring proposition
had held out, and more, was there before him in the custody of this
smirking, self-assured boor! Storm felt a wave of unaccountable hatred
for the other man sweeping over him. What right had Jack Horton to
flaunt that money in his face? God, if it were only his!
He roused himself to realize that the other was eying him in a
crestfallen fashion, disappointed that his narrative had seemed to
make no impression, and Storm collected his vagrant thoughts.
“I envy you your experiences,” he said. “The element of danger must be
exhilarating. To walk out of the station, as you did to-night, and
realize that if the very men who rubbed shoulders with you in the
street knew what was in that bag your life might not be worth
tuppence——”
“Say, look here!” Horton showed traces of alarm. “I told you in
confidence, old scout! For the love of Pete, don’t mention it! It
would mean my job if the company heard that I had been flashing the
payroll! They must never get onto it that I stopped off in town; no
one must know! You’ll keep it a secret that you met me?”
“Of course.” Storm nodded. “You don’t know how well I can keep a
secret, Jack!”
“You’re the only living soul who knows where I am this minute!” The
other chuckled, reassured. “Not that I’ll be missed for these few
hours. The company don’t check me up on time nor keep tabs on me; they
know I’m honest, and the money is as safe in my care as though it were
still in the bank.”
“_The only living soul who knows where I am!_” The words rang in
Storm’s ears with the insistence of a tolling bell, and a tremendous,
sinister idea was born. Nothing stood between him and the money there
before his eyes, within reach of his hand, but this cocksure fathead!
If he could get it away from him, secretly, without the other’s
knowing——But that was impossible! The fool knew his business too well
to be tricked; he had learned it in the roughest, wildest parts of the
country, and here they were in the midst of the crowded city, where a
single outcry would bring immediate investigation. Jack Horton would
guard that bag while he lived. _While he lived!_
“No one will ever learn from me that I saw you to-night,” Storm said
slowly. “You needn’t worry about that.”
Horton nodded.
“Knew I could trust you, old scout! You know, now that I’m here,
though, I’m damned if I wouldn’t like to telephone a certain party.”
He turned speculative eyes on the instrument on the desk. “She needn’t
know where the call came from; I could tell her I was in Trenton or
Scranton or Altoona, and she wouldn’t get me in a million years. I’d
kind of like to hear her voice——”
“You’re crazy!” Storm interrupted in rough haste. “This wire is
listed! Don’t you know a call can be traced? Suppose this woman,
whoever she is, thinks of something else she wants to tell you after
you have rung off, and gets Central to call you back on the wire? It
isn’t always possible for them to do it, but they have been known to.
It is nothing to me, of course, but you know how women talk; if you
want her to know that you spent the evening here in town——”
“Not on your life, I don’t!” ejaculated Horton. “She’s all right;
greatest little kid in the world, but I’m not giving anybody anything
on me; especially when I’m in charge of the company’s money.”
Storm nodded acquiescence. No plan was as yet forming itself in his
mind, but the sinister idea was becoming a resolution. He must have
that money! Fate, after robbing him of his own, had replaced it
twofold within his grasp. If Horton would not surrender it—and that
was not worth considering—then Horton must be eliminated. He had done
it once and gotten away with it; why not again? But he must feel his
way carefully, he must learn just where Horton stood, what his ties
were. He must know from what quarter to expect inquiries if—he tried
to say it to himself calmly, but his senses reeled at the immensity of
it—if Horton disappeared.
“But you haven’t told me anything about yourself, Jack; only about
your work. You’re not married, I suppose?”
“Not me!” the other laughed, then amended: “At least, not yet. I’ve
looked ’em all over, from Tampico to Nome and from ’Frisco to Boston,
but I haven’t seen one yet that I’d tie up to for keeps; except maybe
this little dame I wanted to talk to just now. Prettiest little thing
you ever saw in your life, Norman, and got a lot of horse sense
besides. Want to see the picture?”
He pulled out his watch, snapped the case open and extended it across
the table.
The face in the little photograph was undeniably pretty, but the style
of coiffure was over-elaborate, and even to Storm’s untrained
masculine eye the gown seemed cheaply ornate; not the sort of thing
that Leila or any of her set would have worn.
“Who is she?” he asked; then correcting himself hastily, “I mean,
where does she come from? She is mighty pretty,” he added as he
snapped the watch shut and handed it back.
“You’ve guessed it; she’s no New Yorker; comes from Pennsylvania, out
Bethlehem way. Her daddy made a pot of money in steel during the war,
and she’s on here trying to catch up with the procession. She’ll do
it, too, with the old man’s cash and her looks.” Horton grinned
fatuously. “She’s strong for your Uncle Jack, all right.”
What an ass he looked, blithering there about a girl while at his feet
lay the price of his life! But Storm must know more.
“Then I suppose congratulations are in order?” he queried, eying his
guest through narrowed lids.
“Not yet. I don’t mean to brag, but I have an idea they will be as
soon as I make up my mind to say the word.” He paused to lay his cigar
stub with the others in the tray, and Storm’s eyes followed the motion
as if fascinated. The mounting heap of pale gray ashes reminded him
suddenly of certain ashes which he had scattered in a garden at
midnight a month before. They were so like them, light and flakey,
tossed by a light wind, gone forever at the twist of an arm! How
easily that had been accomplished! Not only the destruction of the
handkerchief, but of all other clues! How easily he had outwitted them
all, and then he had been a mere amateur and handicapped by the fact
that the blow had been unpremeditated; when he started to build up the
circumstantial evidence of accident he had been compelled to make what
use he could of conditions as they lay. Sinister but intoxicating
reflections came to him. He had succeeded then; could he fail now when
the opportunity was his to prepare beforehand each step of the way?
“How about your family, Jack? I haven’t heard, you know, since I lost
track of you.” He must keep the conversation going somehow until he
formed a plan.
“Haven’t any.” Horton shrugged. “My dad died right after his
failure—you knew that?—and mother went in two years, while my kid
brother was killed in France. There’s no one left except an uncle in
Omaha, and I cut loose from him years ago. It’s too bad mother didn’t
live; she’d have liked ’Genie.”
“’Genie?”
“Old man Saulsbury’s daughter; girl in the watch. Her own mother is
dead, and she’s staying here on Madison Avenue with some old widow who
is long on the family tree business and short on cash. She’s going to
fit ’Genie out properly and put her through her paces.”
“You may lose her if she gets into the social game,” Storm remarked
absently, his mind intent on his problem. On one thing he was
determined; Horton should not leave that door with the money! Yet to
kill him here was unthinkable. A phrase which the other had used in
telling of his predecessor’s fate returned to Storm like a flash of
inspiration: “_found in a thicket by the road with his head bashed
in_”——The Drive! Later it would be deserted enough; but how to get
Horton out there——?
“Lose ’Genie?” Horton repeated. “Not a chance! There’s no nonsense
about her, I can tell you! She is only doing this to please her daddy,
but she’ll never get stung by the society bug. I knew her before the
old man made his pile, and it hasn’t changed her a mite. She’d stick
to me through thick and thin, but when a fellow has led the free life
I have, he isn’t in too much of a hurry to settle down in double
harness, even if it is silver mounted.”
“There is no one else?” Storm regarded him quizzically. “For you, I
mean? No other girl in the running?”
“No, _sir_! I never bothered much with them, anyway; been too busy.
This Mid-Eastern Consolidated Coal Corporation is the biggest job I’ve
had yet, and I’m planning to stick right with them and go on up. They
know me, and once I get on the inside——!” Horton paused and reached
for the humidor. “I’m eating up your cigars, old scout! Look at that
pile of ashes.”
“Help yourself.” Storm tossed the match box across the table. “That’s
what they’re here for. Damn the ashes.”
“Well, it’s my last.” Horton glanced at his watch. “Great Scott!
Eleven thirty! I ought to be changing at Altoona right now for a
little jerkwater road up into the mountains!—Oh, what’s the odds! It’s
been worth it, this powwow with you, Norman. I’ll catch the
twelve-forty——”
“Why? I thought you were going to stay over night!” stammered his
host, aghast at this sudden hitch in his half-formulated plan. “I’m
all alone here, as you see, and we can turn in any time you feel like
it.”
“I—I oughtn’t to!” Horton hesitated, and Storm seized upon his
opportunity.
“You’re safer here with that bag than you would be traveling at night.
You can get a train at almost any hour in the morning, and you said
they didn’t check up on your time.” He paused, and as the other still
visibly wavered he added persuasively: “Tell you what I’ll do, Jack.
I’ve got some business to attend to in Philadelphia that would require
my presence there in a day or two, anyway; if you’ll wait over I’ll go
part of the way with you to-morrow. It isn’t often that two chaps who
were such good pals at college meet after so many years, and we have a
lot to talk over yet.”
“That’s so,” Horton agreed. “A few hours more or less won’t make any
difference, I guess, and I’ll be mighty glad to have your company part
of the way in the morning. I’m not due back until late in the
afternoon; got through my business to-day ahead of time. That’s how I
came to think of stopping off for a look at the old town.”
“It would make trouble if you weren’t there to-morrow, though?” Storm
asked slowly. “I mean, if you should stay over with me——?”
“Trouble? Say!” Horton leaned forward impressively. “If I weren’t
there by six o’clock to-morrow night every wire in the east would be
hot from efforts to locate me. I’m not so precious to them, but their
little old hundred thousand odd—wow!”
He flickered the ashes from his cigar, and a few flakes missed the
tray and fell on the shining surface of the table top. Storm watched
them settle, just as those other ashes must have settled among the
flowers . . . God, why did he have to think of that now? ‘_In a
thicket with his head bashed in_’! There was a spot up the Drive past
the viaduct where the path turned sharply, and on the other side of
the low wall was a sheer drop of fifty feet or more with stout bushes
clinging to it all the way down. A living man could grab them and save
himself, perhaps, but a dead body, hurtled over the wall——
“You’ll get there, all right.” Storm forced himself to speak casually.
“You’re traveling light, but I can make you comfortable for the
night——”
“Comfortable?” Horton spread his legs out luxuriously. “I’m so darned
comfortable right now that I wouldn’t change places with a king! Lord,
but it’s like old times to see you again, Norman! Twenty years is a
long stretch, but it seems only yesterday that we sat smoking together
in your old rooms, and usually planning some devilment, too! Remember
the love letters on pink paper that we sent to the old chemistry
prof.—what was his name? Oh, yes, Peebles. Gad, we kept them up for
weeks until he was afraid to look even the president’s old maid sister
in the face!”
He chuckled reminiscently, and Storm’s lips twisted in a smile. ‘_Head
bashed in!_’ How could he do it? What sort of weapon——? From where he
sat he could look over his guest’s shoulder into the hall, and the
umbrella stand was in a direct line of vision. Potter had been rather
a connoisseur of canes, and among those he had left behind him in his
hurried departure was a curious one with a loaded head. A tap with it
would crack a skull like an egg-shell! But not if that skull were
covered by a thick, soft felt hat, such as Horton wore when they met.
If he could contrive to make him put on an old golf cap, on some
pretext; could get him up the Drive to that lonely spot where the wall
sheered down, he would have but to strike once and the bag and its
precious contents would be his! He listened. Had the rain stopped? It
was no longer beating against the window. He must make an excuse to
look out and see.
“We certainly pulled off a few stunts in the old days!” he observed.
“Don’t you think it’s a bit stuffy in here? Let’s get some of the
smoke out.”
He rose and strolled to the window, trembling with inward excitement,
but forcing himself to walk slowly, casually. He raised the window.
The pavement was still wet and glistening, but overhead the stars
winked down at him.
“Hello, it’s clearing off!” he announced “We might have a stroll
later, before we turn in.”
“What for?” Horton asked unenthusiastically. “I’ve been on the jump
all day. It is good enough for me right here.”
“Then what do you say to a little drink?” Storm heard the footsteps of
a lone pedestrian approaching, and hurriedly closing the window,
pulled down the shade. Horton was seated where the light played
strongly on his face, and he would be plainly visible from the street.
A passer-by glancing in would think nothing strange about seeing a man
sitting quietly smoking there, but he might chance to remember the
face; he might recall it later when a hue and cry was raised and
pictures were printed in the newspapers. . . . “As long as you’re
staying on here with me to-night another little nip or two won’t do
you any harm. This is an occasion, you know!”
Rigidly as he held himself in control, there was a note of suppressed
eagerness in his tone which the unsuspicious Horton misread.
“On with the dance!” he cried gaily. “I’m with you, old scout! Just
one, though; got to have a clear head in the morning. Booze is a good
thing to let alone in my business, but I know when I’ve had enough. Do
you remember the time we got pickled in Dutch Jake’s, and you wanted
to go and serenade the whole faculty?”
While he chattered on serenely Storm moved in and out bringing
glasses, ice and a fresh siphon. He mixed as stiff a drink as he dared
for his guest, a light one for himself, and raised his glass.
“To ourselves!” he exclaimed with a reckless laugh. “That’s the best
toast in the world, Jack, and the most honest one. To us!”
“And our next meeting.” Horton drank, nor noticed that his host set
his glass down untasted while a faint shudder swept over him. “Phew!
but that’s a strong one! I need a little more fizz in that, old
scout.” He reached for the siphon. “Say, what wouldn’t I give if we
could all be together again, just once; the old crowd, I mean! There
was Van Tries and Caldwell and Holworthy and Swain and McKnight. I
wonder what has become of them all!”
“Holworthy is here in town; I run into him now and then.” Storm raised
his glass slowly, watching the hand that held it. Steady as a die!
“That so?” Horton looked up, interested. “What is his line?”
“Real estate. He’s the same old plodding George, except that he is
getting fat. McKnight died in the prison camp at Rastatt and Swain
went under in Wall Street and blew the top of his head off.”
Horton’s ruddy face sobered.
“That makes three of the old crowd gone, for Caldwell was killed in a
motor smash-up,” he said. “I remember reading about it in the papers.
All violent deaths, too! Well, maybe we’re none of us fated to die in
our own beds.”
Storm started nervously and glanced at him. Was there something
prophetic in Horton’s speech? Then he shook himself angrily. Bah! he
was getting morbid. Morbid, with a hundred thousand dollars at his
feet, waiting for him to stoop and pick it up!
Horton, too, stirred in his chair as though shaking off unwelcome
thoughts, and added:
“Anyway, here we are! You’re well fixed, and I’m on the road to it;
that leaves only Van Tries, of our bunch. Ever hear anything from
him?”
“Not since he beat it for Japan with another man’s wife.”
“You don’t say!” Horton’s eyes widened. “Well, he always was a wild
one; too much money and no responsibility. I tell you, Norman, money
is a comfortable thing to have, but it causes a hell of a lot of
trouble in this world! Not that mine will bother me very much, but
fellows like Van Tries. They don’t know the value of it till it’s
gone, and then they’re out for the count because they’ve never learned
to do anything except spend.”
His tone dropped to a monotonous drawl with a note of fatigue in it,
and Storm drew a deep breath. It was nearly one o’clock. His plan was
complete and there remained only to put it to the test. How quickly
the inspiration had come to him! How simple it was and yet how
masterly! Perhaps that first murder had sharpened his wits for this!
There was no reason for waiting longer; it must be now or never! He
rose.
“What do you say to a little stroll, Jack, before we hit the hay?” he
asked with a studied carelessness. “Not a long one, for I know you
must be tired after traveling all day; but I don’t sleep very well
unless I get a bit of fresh air just before I turn in.”
Breathlessly he watched the other. What if Horton should suggest that
he go alone? What if——?
“I’m with you.” Horton rose equably. “We must be smoked up like a
couple of hams.”
He reached out a hand for his pistol, but Storm stopped him with a
nervous laugh.
“Here! There’s a Sullivan law in this town against carrying concealed
weapons! You don’t want that thing with you; put it in the table
drawer there.”
“All right.” Horton opened the drawer and then hesitated. “The money!
There have been hold-ups on the Drive. I’ve read of them——”
“Good Lord, you weren’t going to cart that bag along, were your”
Storm’s tone was a perfect blend of amusement and good-natured
expostulation. “Why, man, we’ll only be gone ten minutes, fifteen at
most! Lock it up again in the closet; no one is going to break in
here!”
Horton shook his head obstinately.
“I never leave it out of my sight when I’m on the job,” he said. “You
never can tell, you know, Norman.”
“I suppose some sneak thief is clairvoyant enough to know that money
is here to-night of all nights, in a bag in a locked closet!” Storm
shrugged. “Camouflage it behind some hat boxes and things on the shelf
if you like. I tell you we’ll only be gone a few minutes, and the
watchman is right outside.”
“It’s a big chance,” Horton responded doubtfully. “I suppose it sounds
foolish to you, but I’ve learned to play safe. Still, if it is only
five minutes——”
He picked up the bag and started for the closet. Storm watched him
stow it carefully away with a smile of triumph. The fool was taking
such pains—for him! He put on his own coat and then caught up
Horton’s. The felt hat which the latter had worn rolled to the floor,
limp and sodden.
“I say, your hat is drenched!” He could scarcely keep the note of
exultation from sounding in his voice. The last obstacle removed!
Everything was playing into his hands; he couldn’t fail! “I told you
that your umbrella leaked! Just reach up on the top shelf there and
get a golf cap. There is a stack of my old ones up there, and none of
my hats would fit you. There is no sense in getting a cold in the head
from wearing that wet thing, and you’ll have to get it reblocked
before train time to-morrow. It’s a mess.”
“It sure is!” Horton eyed it ruefully and reaching up into the closet
brought out a golf cap of thin, dark blue cloth. Storm himself locked
the closet door and held out the key.
“You’ll feel safer if you’ve got it yourself,” he remarked. “Now come
on.”
Horton dropped the key in his vest pocket and then drew on the cap
with a ludicrous grimace at his reflection in the hall mirror.
“I look like a bally yachtsman!” he commented. “I suppose I’ll have to
go in for golf and all the rest of it if I land in right with the
Mid-Eastern Consolidated and hitch up with the little girl, eh, what?”
“You’d be a shark at it, too.” Storm switched off the lights and
opened the door, stepping aside for his guest to precede him. “I don’t
play any more, but it’s a great little game.”
As Horton crossed the threshold Storm’s hand closed over the head of
the heavy cane, and he drew it out of the stand. Then the door closed
behind them.