The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Money Gods, by Ellery H. Clark
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Title: The Money Gods
Author: Ellery H. Clark
Release Date: January 2, 2012 [EBook #38472]
Language: English
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THE MONEY GODS
THE MONEY GODS
BY
ELLERY H. CLARK
Author of "Loaded Dice," "The Carlton Case," "Ebenezer's Millions,"
"Pharos," "Dick Randall," "The Camp at Sea Duck Cove," &c.
1922
BOSTON NEW YORK
THE CORNHILL PUBLISHING COMPANY
Copyright, 1922, by
THE CORNHILL PUBLISHING COMPANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING MOTION PICTURE RIGHTS, DRAMATIC
RIGHTS, SERIAL RIGHTS, AND INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION
INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
THE JORDAN & MORE PRESS
BOSTON
To
Dr. and Mrs. L. D. Shepard
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I Hide and Seek.
II Tangled Threads.
III The Golfers.
IV A Flurry in the Market.
V Fools Rush In.
VI Misery Meets Company.
VII The Adventure of Blagden.
VIII The Adventure of Tubby Mills.
IX A Message from the Past.
X The Adventure of Atherton.
XI A Fresh Start.
XII The Flight of Bellingham.
XIII The Great Secret.
XIV A Triple Discovery.
XV Thrust and Parry.
XVI The Final Effort.
XVII The Power and the Glory.
XVIII Fate is Fickle.
XIX The Sowers of the Wind.
XX The End.
THE MONEY GODS
THE MONEY GODS
CHAPTER I
Hide And Seek
Outside the open window, clustering ramblers flecked the wall with
crimson, and the ceaseless murmur of the questing bees filled the
midsummer air with melody. No other sound disturbed the silence of the
study, where Marshall Hamilton, President of the Standard Bank, and
his secretary, Hugh Bellingham, sat facing one another at the table in
the centre of the room. One by one, the capitalist was disposing of
the documents before him, working rapidly, but with the absolute
precision acquired by years of experience in the world of high
finance. A note here, a numeral there, a word of explanation to the
secretary; at length he had completed his task.
"That will be all, Bellingham," he said curtly. "When you've attended
to these, you may have the rest of the day to yourself. I'm expecting
some friends to play golf."
Bellingham rose, picked up the papers from the table, and with a
murmured word of thanks made his way slowly up the broad staircase to
his pleasant, airy room at the top of the house. Yet it was evident
that he viewed the prospect of a holiday with indifference, for as he
seated himself at his desk and gazed forth over Marshall Hamilton's
broad acres, the look upon his face was one of discouragement
bordering on despair, while his thoughts, gloomily disconsolate, were
divided between pity for himself and envy of his employer. How would
it feel, he wondered, to change places with the banker, if only for a
day, and to become the owner of these well-kept lawns, these groves of
birch and pine, the hills and valleys of the links and the sea-blue
river winding its leisurely way through the green and fertile meadows
on its journey toward the sea. That would indeed be happiness, and
more glorious still would be the knowledge that he was one of the "big
men" of Wall Street, not only a multi-millionaire, but a director in a
score of huge companies and the organizer of mighty enterprises. For
an instant, as he sat staring into the sunshine and letting his fancy
roam at will, he almost succeeded in realizing his dream, but the next
moment, with a sudden start, he came to himself again--Hugh
Bellingham, private secretary at a salary of two thousand a year, and
with debts so urgent and so impossible of payment that the very
thought of them was a perpetual torment, causing him anxious days and
sleepless nights, and robbing his life of all pretence of happiness.
"Money," he reflected, "I've got to find it. A lot of it, too. Ten
thousand dollars, at the least. But Heaven knows where it's coming
from, and if I don't have it soon--"
A shrug of his shoulders completed the sentence, and rousing himself
with a sigh from his vain imaginings, he turned to the papers before
him and was about to begin work in earnest when he heard the patter of
footsteps coming swiftly down the hallway toward his room, and at the
sound shook his head in humorous despair. "Young Marshall," he said to
himself. "No chance for writing now." And scarcely had the words
passed his lips when the door flew violently open and Marshall
Hamilton, Junior, a handsome boy of seven, burst explosively into the
room, and without wasting time on preliminary greetings, hastened to
announce the purpose of his visit.
"I say, Hugh," he cried, "I've finished my lunch, and Miss Wilton's
still at the table, stuffing like a pig. So let's play hide and seek."
Abruptly, Bellingham swept his papers together, thrust them into the
drawer of his desk, and rose acquiescently from his chair. "Very well,
sir," he rejoined, "if you say hide and seek, then hide and seek it
is. And I suppose you want me to be 'it' so that you can have all the
fun and make me do all the work."
But the boy shook his curly head. "No, no, Hugh," he cried, "you're
wrong about that. _I_ want to be the hunter; that's the mostest fun.
And don't you hide--" he added, raising an admonishing finger, "in any
easy baby place like curtains, the way you did last time. I want to
have a real 'citing hunt, so you must choose the hardest place you
can. Now then, I'll give you a fair start; I'll count three hundred by
ones. Ready, Hugh--" and seating himself in the chair which the
secretary had just left, he buried his face in his hands and began to
count rapidly to himself in a buzzing undertone, while Bellingham,
crossing the room on tiptoe, made his way quickly out into the
corridor, wondering where he might find a hiding place sufficiently
inaccessible to satisfy the aspirations of the hunter.
Near the turn in the hallway, he paused opposite the picture gallery;
and, seized by a sudden impulse, entered, closed the door behind him,
and for a moment stood motionless, temporarily blinded by the
transition from the glare outside to the semi-darkness within.
Presently, however, his sight returned to him, and at once, in the
vague half-light, he became aware of an uncomfortable feeling that the
ancestral Hamiltons upon the walls were peering down at him through
the gloom with a hostile and disapproving gaze, as though resenting
his presence in the room. But time pressed, and the secretary, still
governed by the impulse which had bade him enter, did not stop to
analyze this impression, but instead turned hastily from the
unfriendly portraits to the four suits of massive armor which flanked
the door, bulking grimly upon their pedestals, survivals of those
far-off days when the fighting Hamiltons of old had girt their swords
about them, and had gone blithely forth to do battle with their foes.
Toward the nearest of these Bellingham made his way, and a few moments
later stood safely entrenched within his shell of steel, securely
hidden from view and smiling to himself as he reflected that he had
unquestionably found a place difficult enough to test the ingenuity of
his pursuer.
The seconds passed. Evidently the boy was making a thorough search of
Bellingham's chamber, for no sound disturbed the quiet of the gallery
until all at once, with a swiftness which made Bellingham start, he
heard the door suddenly opened and closed again, and immediately
afterward became aware that someone was hastily crossing the room. For
the moment, with his field of vision restricted by the bars of his
helmet, he could not tell who the visitor might be, yet he felt
certain that the footsteps could not be those of a child, and the next
instant proved that he was right as there appeared before his startled
eyes the figure, not of the boy from whom he was hiding, but of
Marshall Hamilton himself. A singular time, thought the bewildered
secretary, for his employer to be visiting the gallery, and the
banker's subsequent actions were more remarkable still, for walking
directly up to one of the portraits, a dignified Hamilton of the
seventeenth century with ruff at neck and sword at side, the financier
stopped short, listened for a moment, and then, casting a quick glance
over his shoulder, raised his hand and apparently touched some portion
of the picture, whereupon, to Bellingham's amazement, the portrait,
frame and all, swung smoothly back; the banker, without hesitation,
stepped quickly through the orifice thus made, and an instant later
the picture had slipped noiselessly into place again, and all was once
more silent in the room.
For the moment, Bellingham experienced nothing but the most intense
astonishment, yet almost at once this feeling gave place to one of
apprehension and dismay, for it was only too evident that the exit
which he had just witnessed was something which he had never been
meant to see, and that if his eavesdropping should be discovered, he
would be placed in a position of obvious embarrassment, and perhaps of
actual danger. And moreover, since young Marshall was a great chum of
his father, it seemed equally clear that if the boy should find the
secretary's hiding place, news of it would inevitably come to the
banker's ears; and accordingly Bellingham, without losing an instant,
made haste to emerge from his place of concealment, and stepping
quickly to the door of the gallery, opened it just in time to hear the
boy's voice crying impatiently, "Make a noise, Hugh; I can't find you.
Make a noise, quick."
Like a flash, Bellingham darted across the hall, entered a spare
bedroom, and with a sigh of relief dropped behind a table, at the same
time calling aloud to guide the hunter. Instantly the boy came
storming down the hall, captured his quarry in triumph and began
clamoring eagerly for another game. But fortunately for Bellingham,
Miss Wilton, having completed the process of "stuffing like a pig,"
now appeared upon the scene and took command of her charge.
"You're to come driving with me, Marshall," she announced, and turning
to the secretary, she added, "And Miss Helen wishes to know, sir, if
you would care to play a round of golf with her at five o'clock?"
Bellingham, his mind still in confusion, stood staring at her as if he
found it difficult to comprehend her words, but at length he managed
to answer, with an effort, "Yes indeed, I'll play with pleasure," and
as the boy and his governess disappeared down the staircase, he stood
for some moments gazing after them; then with a muttered, "Well, I'll
be damned," he turned on his heel, and walked rapidly away down the
corridor.
CHAPTER II
Tangled Threads
Bellingham's first act, upon regaining his room, was to close the door
tightly behind him, as if to prevent the possibility of pursuit. After
which, he resumed his seat at his desk, and lighting his pipe, leaned
back thoughtfully in his chair, and began to consider at his leisure
the strange scene which he had just witnessed in the gallery. A more
imaginative man might perhaps have wondered if his eyes had not
deceived him, but Bellingham, being of a prosaic and matter-of-fact
disposition, did not dream of questioning the evidence of his senses.
Yet to solve the riddle of his employer's conduct was a problem which
was wholly beyond him, and although various vague conjectures
suggested themselves to his mind, he immediately dismissed them as
being too improbable to be worthy of consideration. Drink could not be
the answer, nor could drugs, for Marshall Hamilton, although a man of
more than middle age, was aggressively healthy, with a body of iron
and nerves of steel. Intrigue seemed to the secretary to be a more
plausible explanation, and yet scarcely a likely one, for the banker's
devotion to his invalid wife, and his affection for his daughter and
for his little boy were unmistakably genuine and sincere. More
probable appeared the supposition that the sliding panel might be the
entrance to a vault, where the capitalist could keep important
documents and securities. But whatever the secret might be, the
secretary felt certain that it was on no slight and trivial errand
that the banker had visited the gallery, for in the three years during
which he had served his employer he had long ago discovered that
Hamilton's huge responsibilities made his outlook upon life
essentially a serious one. And while it was quite possible that if
someone else, of lesser interests and of greater leisure, had thus
vanished through a wall, the incident might have seemed frivolous and
amusing; yet where Marshall Hamilton was the man in question,
Bellingham felt that the occurrence was of genuine significance. All
his efforts to solve the mystery, however, were in vain, and presently
realizing that he was accomplishing nothing, and that his
correspondence was still unfinished, he came to the sensible
conclusion that he was wasting his time, and accordingly set to work
upon his task and a couple of hours later had completed it, just as
Martin, the butler, knocked at the door and entered to leave the
afternoon papers upon the secretary's desk.
Bellingham thanked him, and at the same time advanced a chair and
pushed a box of cigars across the desk, for Martin's personality, and
his position in the Hamilton household, were both distinctly out of
the ordinary. Tall and smooth-shaven, with a keen and penetrating eye,
there was something in his appearance suggestive of the ministry; yet
this impression was a false and misleading one, for while it was true
that the butler had interests and aspirations far beyond his station,
yet these interests were the very reverse of ecclesiastical. The stock
market, the wheat pit, the cotton exchange--these were the absorbing
passions of his life; his ears, sharp as those of a fox, were trained
to lose no word that fell, at table, from the lips of his master and
his master's friends; and whether it was owing to this, or to natural
shrewdness on his part, his ventures had prospered so amazingly that
he occupied a position in the eyes of his fellow-servants almost as
dignified and exalted as that of his master in Wall Street.
Now, with a respectful inclination of his head, he seated himself,
helped himself to a cigar, and in answer to the secretary's question,
"Well, what's new, Martin?" he answered, "Stocks were very strong
to-day, sir. Steel crossed one hundred and twenty-nine."
"The devil!" exclaimed Bellingham. "You don't mean it!" And forthwith
turned eagerly to the papers, for while in his present impoverished
condition he had no personal interest in the market's ups and downs,
yet in the atmosphere of finance in which he lived it was part of his
duty to have at his fingers' ends the daily fluctuations in cotton,
stocks and grain. For some moments he studied the pages of the
_Journal_ in silence; then handed the paper to Martin, observing,
"Well, you're right. And there's the explanation, too."
The butler took the paper from Bellingham's hand, and read, in staring
headlines, at the top of the page, "Bull market continues. Marshall
Hamilton and Cyrus McKay both said to favor the advance. Steel booked
for two hundred."
Martin's eyes glistened. "Mr. Bellingham," he asked earnestly, "do you
imagine, sir, that this is true?"
The secretary, with the unbiassed mind of the man who has no stake in
the game, meditated for a moment, then answered truthfully, "My dear
Martin, I haven't the remotest idea whether it's true or not."
The butler looked visibly disappointed. "If you happen to hear
anything, sir," he said in a tone so low that it was almost a whisper,
"you know what I mean, sir--any letters or telegrams--I should be most
grateful if you'd remember me, sir."
Bellingham nodded. "I'll be glad to," he answered, with just the
suggestion of a smile, for the combination of Martin the decorous
servant and Martin the eager speculator was one which never failed to
amuse him. Then, impelled by mere curiosity, he added, "Which is it
this time, Martin? Are you long or short?"
The butler's face was impassive, but his voice was eager with the
irrepressible passion of the gambler. "I'm short, sir," he answered.
"Quite heavily short. I have every reason to believe, Mr. Bellingham,
that we are going to see a severe decline in the market. Unusually
severe, sir. But of course I may be wrong."
Bellingham glanced at the papers with renewed interest, running his
eye up and down the narrow columns of figures which summarized, in
this brief space, the prosperity or the adversity of the entire world.
"They're awfully strong," he commented, "and the gains run through the
list, too. Locomotive is up four, Crucible three and a half, Steel
five. And the rails are strong, too. By Jove, Martin, I believe you
_are_ wrong. Be careful you don't come a cropper. Have you any real
reason for thinking the market isn't going up?"
"Why, sir," the butler answered, "you may remember that about three
months ago it was generally supposed that we were on the brink of a
panic. But I am confident that at that time Mr. Hamilton and Mr. McKay
and the other gentlemen were buying very heavily indeed. And if that
is so, sir, why it hardly seems probable that they would be adding to
their purchases now, when stocks are thirty or forty points higher
than they were then. In fact, sir, if it's not an impertinence upon my
part, I think that if you were to sell Steel short on a scale up--"
But Bellingham interrupted him. "My dear Martin," he observed with a
smile, "when a man has dallied with the market all his life, as I
have, and suddenly ceases either to buy or to sell, there is usually
just one answer," and raising his hand, he formed, with thumb and
forefinger the figure zero.
The butler flushed. "I beg your pardon, sir," he said hastily. "I
didn't intend--I meant it in a friendly way, sir--"
"Of course you did," Bellingham good-naturedly interposed, "and I
appreciate your tip, Martin. I'm only sorry I can't take advantage of
it, but I hope you make a million. Oh, and by the way," he added, as
the butler rose to go, "would you mind telephoning Saunders to saddle
the bay mare? I'll be over right away."
Ten minutes later, on his way to the stables, he met Helen. Hamilton
returning from the garden, her arms heaped high with flowers.
"You're not forgetting our golf?" she asked. "Miss Wilton said that
you would play."
"Yes, indeed," he answered, "I'm only going for a turn. I'll be back
in plenty of time." And as he continued on his way, he found himself
thinking, as he had done a hundred times before, that his employer's
daughter approached more nearly to his ideal than any other girl whom
he had ever seen. He admired her beauty, her charm, her thoughtfulness
of others, and most of all he liked the friendliness of her smile and
the frank and fearless glance of her dark brown eyes. "No nonsense
about her." That was his invariable summing-up of her character, and
her friendship had been the pleasantest feature of his employment at
Marshall Hamilton's.
Once astride the mare, however, he had no further chance for
meditation, for his mount had stood idle for two days, and now seemed
to be doing her level best to pull his arms from their sockets, and to
break his neck into the bargain. But after he had made the circuit of
the lake, and had turned her head toward home, she behaved more
sedately, and subconsciously he had already begun to think again of
the adventure in the gallery when all at once, as he neared the
entrance to the links, the whole affair was suddenly revived by the
appearance of Cyrus McKay's motor, drawn up by the side of the road,
the chauffeur, a thick-set, bullet-headed young Irishman, sprawled
comfortably on the seat, cigarette in mouth. "I'm expecting some
friends to play golf." He remembered his employer's phrase, and at
once drew rein beside the car.
"Hullo, Jim," he hailed, "how are you? Mr. McKay on the links?"
"Sure," the chauffeur answered, with a yawn. "I brought him out here
two hours ago, and I've just come back for him now. So I guess he's
had some game."
"Yes, indeed," agreed Bellingham, "it's a perfect day for it, too.
You'll find you'll be waiting another half hour yet."
The chauffeur stretched himself luxuriously, happy in the mere
enjoyment of the pine-scented air and the languorous warmth of the
sun. "Well," he grinned, "it won't worry me any; I'll put my time
against his. But on the level, Mr. Bellingham, don't it beat hell?
When the boss is working, he's the busiest guy in Wall Street; a
minute is worth a thousand dollars; I'm on the jump the whole blamed
time. And then he'll come out here to Mr. Hamilton's and waste a whole
afternoon chasing a little white ball around a field, making half a
dozen rotten shots to every good one. Honestly now, can you beat it?"
Bellingham smiled. "It's relaxation, Jim," he answered, "and that's
what the big men have got to have. That's all that keeps them going.
Whoa, girl, whoa," for the mare, impatient at the delay, reared
straight upward and began to paw the air frantically with her
forefeet. There was a momentary struggle while Bellingham coaxed her
back to earth again, calling over his shoulder to the chauffeur,
"Good-by, Jim, see you again." Then, yielding to a fleeting impulse,
he added, "Where are you keeping the car now? I may drop in and see
you some day."
"Wheeler's garage," Nolan answered. "Find me there about noon, most
any time," and Bellingham, giving the mare her head, arrived at the
stables in greater perplexity of mind than ever. "So he's been playing
golf," he reflected, "just as he said he would, and according to Jim
Nolan, Mr. McKay came to the links at half past two. But that was just
the time when I was in the gallery. So Mr. Hamilton couldn't have
stayed there long; that's certain. Probably he went straight over to
the golf course. But I was working at the window, all that time, and I
should surely have seen him. And it's a safe bet that a man can't be
in two places at once. So what the devil does it all mean, anyway?"
The village clock was striking five as he and his partner reached the
hill which overlooked the first tee. Jock McKenna, the professional,
practising faithfully for the open championship, was just making ready
to drive, while on the green, two hundred and twenty yards away, a
half dozen small white objects bore testimony to the stocky
Scotchman's deadly aim. Helen laid her hand restrainingly on
Bellingham's arm. "Let's watch him," she whispered, and McKenna,
unconscious of his audience, drew back with the free, effortless swing
of the born golfer, while the ball, like a shot from a gun, skimmed
away toward the fluttering flag, struck, bounded, rolled, first with
vigor, then more and more slowly, until it came to a final stop hole
high and only a hair's breadth to the left of the green. Helen, with
the enthusiasm of a true lover of the game, clapped her hands
involuntarily. "Oh splendid, Jock," she cried, "that was a beauty,"
and the professional, looking quickly up at them, smiled and touched
his cap, not ill pleased that his shot had been appreciated.
An instant later, they had joined him upon the tee. "Well, Jock,"
asked Bellingham, "how did Mr. Hamilton come out with Mr. McKay? I
suppose he won, didn't he?"
The professional stared. "'Deed, and there's been no match to-day," he
declared. "And more's the pity, for the course was never as good as
now. Young Mr. Marshall was down this morning, skelping up my turf for
me till I fair had to drive him away, but nobody else has played a
stroke."
Helen Hamilton, paying no heed to their talk, had teed her ball, and
now, with a deliberate and well-timed swing, sent her ball straight
down the fairway for a hundred and fifty yards. "Very good, Miss
Helen," was McKenna's comment, "you're improving all the time. What
handicap does Mr. Bellingham give you now?"
"A stroke a hole," she answered, "but I only take it to humor him. In
another month I shall beat him even."
She spoke chaffingly, and Bellingham answered in similar vein,
"Nonsense, I could give you two strokes instead of one," but his
thoughts, as he swung, were far distant from the game, and a topped
and sliced tee shot came to rest in a sand-trap near the seventeenth
green.
Helen Hamilton laughed aloud, and the professional half smiled in
sympathy with her triumph, half frowned in disapproval of this most
inartistic shot. "You've played golf enough, Mr. Bellingham," he said
reprovingly, "to make it a shame for me to have to say 'You didna
follow through,' like I would to some beginner. But that was the
trouble, man; you checked your swing as though you were no thinking of
the shot at all."
"My club turned in my hand," said Bellingham absently. "The grip's
worn smooth." But as they started for the green, he was saying to
himself, "So they played no golf. And if they weren't on the links,
where were they? That's one mystery. And the second is, no matter
where they were, what on earth were they doing?" And greatly
wondering, he walked onward toward the trap where his misplayed ball
lay buried in the sand.
CHAPTER III
The Golfers
The Hamilton estate was bounded upon the north by the main highway,
and between the road and the hills and valleys of the links extended a
strip of woodland, about a quarter of a mile in width, and covered
with a dense growth of hemlocks, birches and tall pines towering
upward toward the sky, while at the base of these forest giants briars
and brambles, shrubs and bushes, had been permitted to grow unchecked,
until they had formed a network of underbrush so thick as to be
well-nigh impassable.
Upon the same day, and almost at the identical hour when Bellingham
stood gazing open-eyed after his employer's vanishing form, a man came
slowly through this strip of woodland, proceeding cautiously, with the
practised step of the forester, along a path so narrow and so
overgrown that it was practically invisible. Yet the man was
apparently familiar with his surroundings, and apparently, too, he was
not merely a forester, but a huntsman as well, for he carried a gun
slung over his shoulder and his clothes and cap of faded green
harmonized so perfectly with the underbrush that his furtive progress
along the path was almost imperceptible. Slowly and noiselessly he
advanced until he had drawn near to a clump of huge firs, set in a
natural circle and distant about a hundred yards from the trail which
led to the links. Here he paused and dropping on his hands and knees
crept through the bushes and entered a hutlike shelter, artfully woven
of growing shrubs, where he lay effectually concealed, commanding,
through a narrow orifice, a perfect view of the approach to the clump
of firs. Next, with leisurely precision, and with no trace of
excitement upon his bronzed and weather-beaten face, he proceeded to
unsling his weapon from his back and to make it ready for use; and as
he did so, one further circumstance became apparent--namely, that he
was a huntsman who did not care for noise--a poacher, perhaps--for
what had resembled a gun now proved to be an old-fashioned crossbow,
of rare and curious workmanship, and this bow the huntsman bent, and
then, adjusting the murderous looking bolt, settled down to wait in
comfort until his quarry should appear.
Silence descended upon the forest; a silence so profound that it
seemed as if animals, birds and insects, all were slumbering amid the
quiet of the summer afternoon. Surely, the huntsman had poor prospects
of success, yet if this were so, he did not appear to care, but lay
motionless, resting quietly, with ears upon the alert and eyes fixed
steadily upon the clump of firs.
The moments passed. Then, presently, far up the road, sounded the
throbbing rhythm of a motor, and a half a minute later Cyrus McKay's
big car drew up at the gateway leading to the links, and McKay,
founder and President of the National Wire Trust, stepped leisurely
forth, a huge, burly, bull-necked man, with power written in every
line of his ruddy, jovial face, in every movement of his big body, and
in every glance of his shrewd blue eyes. With something of an effort,
he reached for his golf bag, and with a nod to the chauffeur, said,
"All right, Jim. Come back at half past four."
The chauffeur touched his cap; the big car turned and sped smoothly
down the road, and McKay, left alone, started slowly along the pathway
toward the links. Apparently, he anticipated a pleasant afternoon, for
as he strolled along he whistled boyishly, burst occasionally into
snatches of song, and presently, some distance up the path, he stopped
for a moment, drew a white feather from his pocket and adjusted it
carefully in his cap; after which he seemed suddenly to alter his mind
regarding his destination, for striking boldly off from the trail, he
began making his way through the waist-high underbrush, directly
toward the clump of firs.
As the sound of the motor had died away in the distance, the huntsman
in the thicket had redoubled his vigilance, and now, as the crackling
of the bushes grew more and more distinct, his keen eyes swept
searchingly about the glade and his fingers tightened upon the stock
of his weapon, as if it were for human game that he was thus lying in
wait. Yet if this were the fact, it was clearly not McKay whom he was
expecting, for as the latter's bulky form loomed into view the hunter
relaxed his grip upon his crossbow, and once more resumed his attitude
of patient watchfulness.
In the meantime McKay had reached the edge of the circle of firs, and
with a shrug of distaste for the ordeal that lay before him, he
settled his cap more firmly on his head, and guarding his face with
his upraised arm, he at length succeeded in forcing a passage through
the close-knit barrier of the trees. Then, extracting a key from his
pocket and achieving, not without difficulty, a kneeling posture, he
cleared away the soil until a square of steel came into view, and
fitting a key to the lock, he threw back the door and disclosed a
flight of stone steps, down which, with the utmost nonchalance and as
if he were conducting himself in a perfectly normal manner, he
promptly disappeared, carefully closing the trap behind him. At the
foot of the short flight of steps he paused for a moment, and drawing
a flashlight from his pocket proceeded briskly along the narrow
passageway, stoutly shored and timbered, until he presently emerged,
through a second door of steel, into the underground chamber where
Marshall Hamilton stood awaiting him.
The room itself was simply--almost barely--furnished, and in
appearance was as conventional as the method of approaching it was
unique. The only furniture was a heavy mission table and four chairs
to match; a massive safe was set into the wall; at one end of the room
stood an old wooden desk, elaborately carved and inlaid, and at the
other a sideboard bearing glasses, decanters and cigars.
The two men shook hands with the ease of long acquaintance. "On time,
as usual," Hamilton observed.
McKay drew a chair up to the table and sat down. "The others will be
here?" he asked.
"Any minute," Hamilton responded with equal brevity. "They come from
the south, this time," and the words had scarcely passed his lips when
the door opened to admit James Norton, the "Cereal King," and Vincent
Brooks, senior partner in the famous banking house of Brooks &
Harrington. Brooks was a tall, fair man, often described by his
friends as "a fellow who had been dealt every card in the pack." In
other words, he had been welcomed, from the day of his birth, into the
most aristocratic society in New York, was immensely wealthy, and
possessed, into the bargain, great natural ability and a wonderful
aptitude for "big business," where the figures ran into billions, and
the risks and the rewards were alike staggering to the imagination.
Norton, on the other hand, was almost his exact opposite, a dark,
eager man of forty, fairly dynamic with energy, who had been favored
with no cards by Fortune, and who had thereupon fared blithely forth
and had collected an entire pack for himself. In the Wall Street
district he had first been hated and despised as an upstart, but later
had been made welcome as a man too shrewd and forceful to be ignored.
Immediately the four men seated themselves around the table, and
Hamilton, drawing a sheaf of papers from his pocket, proceeded to call
the meeting to order and for perhaps fifteen minutes read steadily,
interrupted now and again by a comment or a query from one or the
other of his associates. At the conclusion of his task, there followed
approval and acceptance of his report, the carrying of various formal
motions, and then began a low-toned, informal talk between the four,
apparently entirely harmonious until McKay and Norton became involved
in a discussion which gradually increased in intensity until at length
they had the conversation to themselves, Brooks and Hamilton listening
with an intentness which made it evident that the subject was one of
vital importance. Finally McKay, with the utmost earnestness, spoke at
length, summarizing and emphasizing his arguments with all the skill
at his command, but when he had concluded it became evident that his
efforts had only served to increase Norton's opposition, for the
Cereal King struck the table before him with his clenched fist,
crying, "No, no, McKay, you're absolutely wrong. You're altogether too
conservative. Life is short, and so I say: Let's get all we can."
At this outburst McKay only smiled, and instead of answering he turned
to Hamilton. "Would you be kind enough, Marshall," he asked, "to read
to us once more the statement showing our profits for the year?"
Hamilton found the document referred to. "Gross," he answered,
"seventy millions. Net, after deducting all payments and expenses,
forty-two millions."
"Thanks," said McKay briefly, and to Norton he added, "Well, my boy,
that makes precisely ten millions and a half apiece for the four of
us, to say nothing of what we've disbursed to our subordinates, or of
the sums that have been realized by our friends across the water. In
the face of such a showing, do you maintain with seriousness that we
may be termed ultra-conservative?"
"That," responded Norton with spirit, "is exactly my contention. It's
not the actual financial results, in dollars and cents, that I'm
criticizing, for as you say, ten millions and a half of sure money is
a satisfactory income for anyone. No, my objections are based purely
on artistic grounds. When you consider--"
But McKay, with a huge burst of laughter, broke in upon him. "Artistic
grounds!" he exclaimed. "Good Heavens, man, you might accuse us of
plenty of other things, but not of being inartistic. Why, that is our
strong point--our trump card. If we're not artistic, we're nothing."
Norton shook his head. "Only in a sense," he retorted. "In the same
way that we hark back to the beginnings of any art. For their age,
they sufficed, but in the light of later knowledge and achievement
they are bound to appear pitifully crude and inadequate. And so it is
with us. Forty years ago the founders of our society were the ablest
financiers of their day, and the system which they inaugurated was
wonderfully efficient for that period. But think of all that has
happened in forty years. Think of the increase in population, the
increase in wealth, the increase in the number of enterprises, of
corporations and combinations, of securities upon the stock exchange.
And yet, in spite of this, we are still satisfied to conduct our
business along the old primitive lines of forty years ago. Why, I
could take pencil and paper now, and in two minutes I could suggest
improvements that would increase our earnings a hundred, two hundred,
three hundred per cent. I'm absolutely certain of it."
"I quite agree with you," McKay responded quietly, "there's not a
doubt of it. But the answer is: What's the use? Here's a parallel case
for you. Suppose, somewhere in some mountain wilderness, you were to
come by chance upon an undiscovered stream, simply filled with trout
so hungry and so unwary that they would rush ravenously for your bare
hook. Under such conditions, would you use bait?"
"Not at first," rejoined Norton. "I'll admit that. But you don't
complete your parallel. After a while, as your supply of fish begins
to diminish, you will find that those which are left will grow wiser
and more suspicious. And that is the time when you will need all your
skill, and must use your choicest bait."
"No, no," McKay protested warmly, "that's not a fair argument at all.
We are not discussing some possible time when fish grow wise. We are
confining ourselves to facts; my premise is that you can catch all you
need with your bare hook. And when four men--" he added, with a wave
of his hand toward the papers on the table, "can make forty million
dollars in twelve months, without half trying, it certainly doesn't
appear as if our human fish were possessed of any great supply either
of caution or of brains."
Brooks, man of few words, nodded approval. "Right," he interjected.
"You're quite right, Cyrus." And to Norton he added significantly,
"You don't want to fish out your brook, Jim. If you do, you'll go
hungry."
Norton's eyes gleamed. "Perfect rot," he persisted. "That's the same
old 'safe and sane' chatter I'm so tired of hearing. In the first
place, you can't fish the brook out; there's one born every minute.
But wouldn't I like to try it, though. I'd like to start right now;
there never was a better chance; and for the next twelve months do
nothing else except slaughter the innocents. Big fish, fingerlings,
I'd keep 'em all. Never a one would I throw back into the brook to
grow. Why, just imagine what we could make, if we once started after
it. We'd murder 'em; crucify 'em; skin 'em alive." And he licked his
lips covetously at the thought.
McKay's brows contracted. It was not the first time that his own views
and those of his younger associate had come into violent contact. "Oh,
if you aspire to be a game hog, a professional butcher--" he began,
but at this point Marshall Hamilton, who had maintained an unbroken
silence, allowing the debate to range unchecked, suddenly leaned
forward in his chair. "One moment, Cyrus," he said courteously, "may I
interrupt you?" And as McKay assented, the banker continued, "This
figure of the trout brook is a very appropriate one, but neither of
you has quite completed the picture. To make the parallel exact, you
must include a very important person, and that is the owner of the
stream."
Norton stared. Then, with the respect which was invariably accorded to
the financier, he objected, "I don't think I follow you, Mr. Hamilton.
Who is this owner? I should say that we come pretty close to being the
owners ourselves."
"No," Hamilton answered, "we are not the owners. There are times when
it might appear so, but we must not allow ourselves to be deceived. We
are nothing more than poachers--bold, formidable and successful
poachers, I admit--but none the less poachers for all that. And though
the owner of the stream is stupid and careless, slow to anger and to
realize that he is being robbed, still we must never forget that he
exists and that when once aroused his power is irresistible."
Brooks looked frankly puzzled. "I cannot suppose, Marshall," he said
quizzically, "that after the highly uncomplimentary adjectives you
have been using, you are venturing to refer to the individual
mentioned in the prayer books as the 'High and Mighty Ruler of the
Universe.'"
"No," Hamilton answered briefly, "this is the twentieth century. I'm
not bringing God into the discussion in any way."
"I don't understand you either, Marshall," broke in McKay. "I disagree
with Norton in many respects, but I do agree with him in this--that so
far as this enterprise of ours goes, we are supreme. Whom do you
designate as this owner of the stream? Surely not the Law?"
There was a general smile. "No," Hamilton drily responded, "scarcely
that. As far as the Courts are concerned, I suppose we may fairly
claim that we _are_ the Law."
"And the Profits--" interjected Brooks under his breath, but Hamilton
was too much in earnest to heed him, and continued, "No, the owner of
the stream is the Public, and the weapon we have to fear is the
intangible but terribly effective one of Public Opinion."
"Oh, the Public," commented Norton flippantly, "well, as Vanderbilt
said--"
But Hamilton went on gravely. "I assure you that I am quite serious.
Our one possible danger is that some day the Public may learn the
truth. You all know that periodically, after some spectacular rise or
equally spectacular decline in prices, there is sure to be a terrific
bleating from the victims, and a plaintive demand that someone must
investigate the New York Stock Exchange. Of course these
demonstrations don't amount to anything--it's child's play to check
them--but if we should adopt Norton's suggestion and should play the
game to the limit, then the danger would be correspondingly increased,
and if some day the truth should become known--"
Norton interrupted him. "But that is impossible," he declared.
"Impossible," retorted Hamilton, "is a dangerous word. I acknowledge
that it is highly improbable--thanks to the founders of this order for
taking the precautions that they did--but it's not impossible. There
is always 'the plaguy millionth chance.' And grant," he added with
increased emphasis, "that the truth should become known; admit, for
the sake of the argument, that the public should find out what has
been happening to their money for the last forty years, and where
would we be? I'll tell you where. We'd be marked men, fleeing for our
lives, and never safe from vengeance, even in the uttermost corners of
the earth."
No one gainsaid him, and the gravity of his hearers' faces was
sufficient confirmation of the importance of what he said. "You're
right," Brooks assented. "Quite right," McKay agreed. And Norton,
convinced in spite of himself, added thoughtfully, "Well, perhaps you
are."
"I'm sure of it," Hamilton answered, "and now, gentlemen, it is time
to go. When shall we meet again?"
"I suggest day after to-morrow, at the same hour," said McKay.
"To-morrow will be a big day in the market, and we shall have a number
of things to discuss."
"Yes, the time is ripe," Hamilton responded, "it is a wonderful
opportunity."
"How far will cotton decline?" asked Norton.
"I should say, off-hand," answered Hamilton, "a couple of hundred
points, at least. But that will be decided, of course, in the usual
way. We can tell better after the first break."
"And wheat," queried Brooks, "will go up?"
"Exactly," said Hamilton. "The conditions there are exactly reversed.
The advance will be sharp."
He walked over to the sideboard, filled his friends' glasses, and then
raised his own high in the air, glancing, as he did so, at the old
desk across the room.
"Here's to our predecessors," he said gravely. "The men who came here
forty years ago. The men who have made us what we are to-day."
CHAPTER IV
A Flurry in the Market
It still lacked five minutes of ten o'clock, the hour for the daily
opening of the Stock Exchange, but the board room at Holt and
Henderson's was already filled to suffocation, and presently, as more
and more clients came hurrying through the doors, so little space
remained that as the crowd surged to and fro frequent forcible
collisions became unavoidable. Yet while at any other time these
gamblers would promptly have resented this jostling and scrimmaging,
now they were so preoccupied and so intent upon their own affairs that
they never thought of wasting time, either in apologizing themselves
or in demanding an apology from those with whom they had come in
contact.
The gathering would have repaid the studies of a psychologist. It
numbered at least two hundred men, and apparently every rank and
condition of society had furnished a representative. Well-dressed
gentlemen rubbed elbows with ragged tipsters and hangers-on of Wall
Street; a famous musician examined the "chart" of a no less famous
artist; a coachman confident of a rise in July oats swapped theories
with a farmer who foresaw a fall in December corn. But though in
appearance so strikingly dissimilar, yet in one respect all these men
were startlingly alike; not one of them seemed wholly normal. Their
aberration displayed itself in various ways. Some were unable to keep
still, but moved continually hither and thither, from the news ticker
to the newspaper files, from the newspaper files to the bulletin
board. Others, though content to remain in one spot, were unable to
control their tongues and talked incessantly, the intensity of their
speech and their nervous laughter showing the strain under which they
were laboring; while others still, of a less friendly temperament,
maintained an unbroken silence and a sullen aloofness from their
companions.
Occasionally, here and there, small groups collected to discuss one
subject, and one only--the future of the three great markets. "Well,
what do you know?" was the common salutation, while now and then a
customer, seemingly disregarding the grim significance of the phrase,
would propound the jocular query, "Well, what are they going to do to
us to-day?" Questions, answers, comments, filled the air. "London's
up." "How's Liverpool?" "It's a big bull move; they've only started
'em." "I think they're toppy; you can sell 'em on the rallies." So ran
the talk of the speculators, vapid and valueless, without end or
beginning, and begotten of the fever which consumed their veins.
At one end of the office was a narrow alcove in the wall, just wide
enough to contain a single chair, and this seat was now pre-empted, as
it had been for the past month, by a man who at least in appearance
presented a marked contrast to his fellow gamblers. He was young and
exceptionally good-looking, with the build and bearing of an athlete,
while his clear-cut features betokened not only birth and breeding,
but also no lack of determination and tenacity of purpose. His whole
attitude, indeed, suggested confidence in himself, and the occasional
glances which he bestowed upon his companions were somewhat
disdainful, as though he despised them for their excitement and their
lack of self-control. Yet he himself, although quite unaware of it,
was not exempt from the universal nervousness of the office, for every
few moments he cast a quick glance upward at the clock, and repeatedly
drew from his pocket a small memorandum book, studying it as the
patron of the race track examines his wagers before the beginning of a
race.
The hands of the clock pointed to ten o'clock; a bell tinkled sharply;
and the tickers, like sprinters shooting from their marks at the
starter's signal, commenced clicking and whirring at breakneck speed,
while Demming, the red-headed, pot-bellied customers' man, began
bellowing forth the quotations with an air of omnipotence which
suggested that he alone was responsible for all that was taking
place. "Crucible, ninety-four," he cried, "Union, one hundred and
fifty-three; Steel, one hundred and twenty-seven and a half," and
then, to divert his audience, and to show that he was a genuine
humorist, he dropped into the time-honored slang of the street, and
with a smirk of self-appreciation, went on chanting, "Annie Connolly,
one hundred and five; Old Dog, sixty-two; Soup, par and a quarter."
The young man in the corner listened eagerly, noting the prices, as
the board boys posted them, with an approving eye. "Still strong," he
said half-aloud, "they're going up, all right," and he had settled
himself to watch in comfort the rise that was to make him rich when
one of the employees of the office came hastily up to him.
"If you please, Mr. Atherton," he said respectfully, "Mr. Holt would
like to see you for a moment, sir, in his office."
Atherton looked at him in surprise. "Are you sure you have the right
name?" he queried. "I don't like to leave the board just now."
"Yes, sir, I'm sure," the man responded. "In fact, Mr. Holt said that
he particularly wished to see you at once."
Atherton rose. "Very well, then," he answered shortly, "if it's as
important as that, I'll go."
In the private office he found both partners seated at the long table
in the centre of the room. Holt was tall, dark and solemn; Henderson
short, rosy and never without a smile; so that almost inevitably they
had become known to employees and customers alike as "Joy" and
"Gloom." They greeted him pleasantly enough, and after he had taken a
seat, Holt picked up a card from the table and with a preliminary
clearing of his throat, observed, "Our margin clerk has called our
attention, Mr. Atherton, to the state of your account, and I thought
that I had better speak to you about it."
Atherton, with the touchiness of a very young man, at once took
offence. "I wasn't aware," he said stiffly, "that my account was not
in good shape. But if you object to it, I suppose I can take it
elsewhere."
At this retort, Mr. Holt's solemnity visibly increased, but the
smiling Henderson, at his best in such an emergency, came promptly to
the rescue. "Now, now, Mr. Atherton," he remonstrated, "don't be so
hasty. There's nothing wrong with your account as it stands, and it's
an account that we're very glad to have in the office, and that we
don't wish to lose. But Mr. Holt is merely suggesting to you, for your
own good, that you are rather crowding things. You've been carrying
twenty-five hundred shares of Steel; yesterday, at the close, you
bought twenty-five hundred more. And as your deposit with us is just
about fifty thousand dollars, it is obvious that you are getting
pretty close to the danger line."
"Quite so," Atherton acknowledged, "but that is my lookout. As long as
I keep my ten point margin good, why should you worry?"
"That," resumed Mr. Holt, "is exactly the question. Are we to
understand that in the event of a decline in the market, you stand
ready to deposit additional sums as we may require them?"
"No," Atherton answered frankly, "you're not to understand anything of
the sort. All the money I have in the world is in here now. But the
market is going up and you're not obliged to worry about more margin;
if there should be a drop, then we can talk things over again."
Mr. Holt heaved a sigh of impatience. "You young men, Mr. Atherton,"
he complained, "are all alike. You are too cocksure about everything.
Now you can't tell anything about this market; it may go up; it may go
off; but to try to carry five thousand shares of Steel on a ten point
margin is absolute madness--I've been in the brokerage business long
enough to know that. Sell out half your holdings, Mr. Atherton, and
then, if a drop comes, you won't be giving us all nervous
prostration."
Atherton frowned. He had calculated his profits so many times that the
thought of seeing them cut in halves did not appeal to him in the
least. "I don't want to sell," he demurred. "I tell you this market
_can't_ go down. The Steel Corporation is earning more money than at
any time in its history. Everyone says it's going to cross two
hundred. So don't be too particular about my margin; they don't always
insist on ten points in other offices."
"More fools they," retorted Holt briskly, but Henderson, foreseeing in
Atherton's attitude the possible loss of a good customer, hastened to
make a suggestion.
"Personally, Mr. Atherton," he observed, "I think Mr. Holt is quite
right. We've been in this business a long time, and we've seen many a
good man embarrassed for lack of sufficient margin. But if you feel
confident that we are in a big bull market, and are willing to take
your chances, we will carry you, provided you will sign an order
authorizing us to sell you out if steel reacts to one hundred and
twenty. In other words, you give us a stop loss order for our
protection, and take your chances of being caught. It's rank gambling
on your part, Mr. Atherton, and we won't always agree to carry you
overnight, but if it is an accommodation to you, we will carry you
along from day to day, and give you the opportunity of making a big
killing if the market goes up."
Atherton reflected, and obsessed as he was with the idea that the
market was going much higher, Mr. Henderson's scheme impressed
him favorably. With his stock selling at over one hundred and
twenty-seven, a recession to one hundred and twenty seemed impossible,
and by signing the stop loss order he would be enabled to hold the
whole of his five thousand shares. Accordingly, since it was no time
for delay, he made up his mind at once and promptly answered, "Very
well, I'll do it."
At once Mr. Holt selected a "sell order" from the printed slips upon
the table, filled in the figures agreed upon, and Atherton, hastily
signing his name, hurried back to the board room to find, to his
delight, that Steel had advanced to one hundred and twenty-eight.
This, however, appeared to be a critical point in the struggle, and
while the transactions increased to enormous proportions, the
fluctuations narrowed correspondingly. Up an eighth, down a quarter,
up an eighth again, while every few moments Demming's voice could be
heard roaring vociferously, "A thousand Steel--three thousand
Steel--five thousand Steel--"
Eleven o'clock came, and twelve, and Atherton, in view of the market's
steadiness, decided to go out to lunch. But the grip of the game had
laid its spell upon him, and without the board before his eyes he
became so nervous and ill at ease that he ate his meal at breakneck
speed, raced hurriedly back to Holt and Henderson's, and drawing a
breath of relief as he regained the familiar entrance, he thrust open
the door and went in. Yet scarcely had he crossed the threshold when
he realized that during his brief absence from the office something
sensational must have occurred. The room was in a turmoil; a bedlam of
sound filled the air; a mob of dishevelled customers fought their way
madly toward the windows of the order clerks, elbowing and shoving
each other this way and that in their frenzied eagerness to buy or
sell. Waters, regulator of margins, ordinarily the coolest man in the
world, now stood in the rear of the office, crimson-faced, perspiring,
sorting and shuffling a sheaf of customers' cards in his hands, and
sending his subordinates rushing hither and thither in pursuit of
those unfortunates whose slenderly margined accounts were either
already submerged or in imminent danger of becoming so at any moment.
All this Atherton saw in one lightning flash of vision; the next
moment his eyes leaped to the board and he gasped to see in the Steel
column the figures, one twenty-four, while in the same breath he heard
the voice of Demming, hoarse and exhausted, but still powerful,
roaring out "Union, one forty-nine; Reading, one hundred and three;
Steel, one twenty-three and seven-eighths, three-quarters,
five-eighths, a half--"
In a second the calm and confidence of the past few weeks, born of a
rising market and the conviction that he was making his fortune,
vanished utterly, leaving him weak, trembling and panic-stricken. No
longer despising his fellow gamblers, he grasped the first who passed
him by the arm. "What's up?" he cried. "What the devil's happened?"
"War!" the man shouted in reply. "War with Japan! Battleships and
submarines off the Pacific coast! A whole fleet of 'em. Hell to pay.
I'm going to sell 'em short, right here."
He rushed away in the direction of the order clerks, leaving Atherton
perplexed and dismayed. A short distance away from him he noticed a
man, apparently calm amid the confusion, whom Demming had once pointed
out to him as the best judge of the market among all the customers of
Holt and Henderson. Without the loss of a moment, Atherton walked up
to him. "What do you think of 'em?" he asked anxiously, "Are they
going lower?"
The man did not take his eyes from the board, but answered courteously
enough, "I can't tell. It's a big bear raid. I've thought for the last
few weeks the big men were getting out."
"But I thought all the big men were in" protested Atherton. "That's
what all the papers have been saying."
The trader grinned sardonically. "There's a lot in the papers that
oughtn't to be there," he rejoined, "and there's a long sight more
that isn't there, but ought to be. There's only one explanation of
this. The public are ninety-five per cent long of stocks, and the
insiders are getting them! That's all; it's the same old game."
Atherton reflected. "But the warships--" he queried.
"All in your eye," was the trader's response. "It will be denied
to-morrow. But they're doing just as much damage," he added, with a
gesture toward the board, "as if they were real. When the crowd takes
fright, it's all over. Down go stocks, and then the big men load up
again at the bottom, and sell again at the top. It's what you might
call a crime, if you dared to."
At this new view of the stock market, Atherton felt more perplexed
than ever. "Then you think they'll rally?" he ventured.
"Sure," his informant agreed, "but you can't tell how much lower
they'll go first. It all depends on how heavily the public is in the
market. I know what the bears are aiming at, and that's one hundred
and twenty on Steel; that was the old low, six weeks ago. If it goes
through there, good-night."
Atherton shuddered, for by coincidence this was precisely the point at
which his stop order would be reached. Yet he hesitated to put much
confidence in this stray acquaintance and his theories. Big men
slaughtering the public so wantonly, false reports in circulation,
prices being swayed, not by basic conditions, but by manipulation and
by such strange fetishes as "new lows"--if all these things were true,
his faith in human nature and in the goodness of the world had been
sadly misplaced. "But look here," he objected, "Steel _can't_ go down
like this. Why, the earnings for the last quarter--"
The trader's grin widened, and for the first time he turned away from
the board and gazed squarely at Atherton, as if at some new and
interesting specimen of mankind. "Earnings," he repeated vaguely, and
still again, more forcibly, "_Earnings!_" And at last, as though
realizing the inadequacy of speech, he muttered tolerantly and not
unkindly, "Oh, hell--" and turning on his heel, walked over toward the
board.
Atherton, bewildered and abashed, stole back to his alcove, and sat
down to watch the progress of the fight. In his mind, he pictured to
himself the rival armies--the bears red-faced, scowling, domineering
men, objectionable to a degree, pirates of the Exchange, attempting to
wreck a stock like Steel; the bulls sane, conservative men of affairs,
shrewd judges of fundamental conditions, men, in fact, much like
himself. And he could not doubt that the bulls would win. Up went
Steel an eighth, and he thrilled with pride for those who were
defending it; down it went a quarter, and he shook with fear of these
reckless raiders and highwaymen.
And so the battle raged. Two o'clock came and went, and suddenly
Atherton realized the sensations of a wearied fighter in the ring,
striving to hold his own until the clanging of the gong to mark the
end of the round. "If only it holds another hour," he thought. Then he
would at least have a respite until the following morning, a chance to
decide matters at his leisure without this frightful accompaniment of
sound and fury, this whirling maelstrom of men seeking desperately to
make new dollars or trying more desperately still to cling to the
dollars they already owned. If the market would only hold--
But even as these thoughts were shaping in his mind, there came a
furious onslaught from the bears. One hundred and twenty-three for
Steel, twenty-two and a half, twenty-two, twenty-one and three
quarters. He could feel the blood surging to his brain, and his hands
clenched as though he were fighting physically for victory. Then a
rally and a long fight around twenty-three. But he could feel, with a
gambler's instinct, that there was no life to the advance, and sure
enough, as he had feared, presently the tide began once more to ebb.
Twenty-two again, twenty-one and a half, then suddenly, with a
bull-like bellow from Demming, one hundred and twenty-one, twenty and
seven-eighths. For the fiftieth time he glanced up at the clock; two,
thirty-five; only twenty-five minutes more, but less than a point lay
between him and virtual ruin. His lip trembled, his knees shook under
him, and without realizing that there was anything incongruous in such
a proceeding, he began to pray fervently, imploringly--
In the midst of the group which thronged, five deep, around the
ticker, suddenly arose wild commotion. Atherton could discern faces
frenzied with joy; other faces torn with anguish; heard, above the
tumult, some one cry shrilly, "They've done it!" and the next instant,
Demming, in tones of incredulous wonder, was reporting the cataclysm,
"Union, forty-eight, seven, six; Reading, ninety-nine, eight, seven
and a half; Steel, one hundred and twenty, nineteen, eighteen,
seventeen, _sixteen_--"
Atherton stood dazed, benumbed; the blow had fallen so quickly that
for a moment he could not grasp the truth. Then all at once he
knew--knew that he had lost not only the fortune he had sought but
most of the capital which he had risked to gain it. Steel at one
hundred and twenty; he would have fifteen thousand dollars left; but
instantly he recalled the lightning speed of the sheer drop to one
hundred and sixteen, and wondered whether he had been fortunate enough
to escape at the stop loss figure. There was but one way to find out,
and mingling with the crowd, he fought his way to the order clerk's
window, and presently caught the eye of Curtis, his particular friend
among the office force. The clerk shook his head dubiously. "No word
yet, Mr. Atherton," he called, "everything is away behind." And thus,
for ten minutes which seemed unending, Atherton maintained his place
until at last Curtis bent quickly forward, scribbled some figures upon
a piece of paper, folded it, and handed it through the window.
Atherton seized it, made his way back to the alcove, and tense with
excitement, unfolded it to see staring up at him the figures 117-5/8.
His fears were realized--deducting commissions, his account was
practically wiped out of existence. And suddenly a frenzied desire
seized him to leave the place and never to see the inside of a
broker's office again. There was a moment's delay at the cashier's
window, and then, residue of the fifty thousand he had staked, there
came back to him a check for thirteen hundred and forty dollars and
seventy cents. He thrust it into his pocket, and started for the door.
Around the board the storm was still raging, but now a different note
was in the air. "Steel, one twenty-one," he heard, "twenty-two, three
and a half, twenty-four." The trader whom he had questioned stood in
his path, and recognizing Atherton, he said, "They've turned. Just as
I thought. Warship story's denied. All a mistake; Japan expresses warm
friendship. They'll come back strong now. You can buy 'em right where
they are."
Without answer, Atherton passed on. In his heart smouldered a fierce
resentment--a bitter hatred of everybody and everything connected with
the gambler's trade. Forgetting, for the moment, that he had only
himself to blame, he felt that he had somehow been tricked, deceived,
robbed. And as he opened the door, and banged it to behind him, the
last sound which rang in his ears was Demming's frenzied shriek,
"Steel, twenty-six and three-quarters, _twenty-seven!_"
Outside, in the street, the world was bathed in sunshine. Overhead the
sky was blue. About him, on every side, men and women were going about
their appointed tasks, alert, smiling, unbelievably happy. Of a sudden
Atherton's vision cleared, and in a flash of readjustment, he
realized, for the first time, the incredible folly of what he had
done.
CHAPTER V
Fools Rush In
Bellingham was alone in his room. Before him, on his desk, lay
letters from his creditors, and beside them a timetable of the local
trains. The telephone leading to the stables stood within easy reach
of his hand, yet he made no effort to lift the receiver from its
resting-place, but remained irresolute and motionless, a picture of
indecision. Over and over again, during the last two days, he had
tried to make up his mind as to the course he should pursue, but his
endeavors had been unavailing, and he was still as far from a
conclusion as ever.
Upon one hand, Decency and Caution combined to warn him. Urged
Decency, "You are living under Marshall Hamilton's roof; accepting his
money; eating his bread. By the merest chance, you have seen something
which you were never intended to see. In loyalty to your employer, you
should dismiss it from your mind, and never think of it again." And
Caution added, "All that Decency says is true, and you must remember
that there is a further consideration, which is more important still.
That is your own safety. There is a mystery here, and it is the
experience of mankind that mystery, as a rule, goes hand in hand with
danger. You may not be satisfied with things as they are, but do not
forget that nothing is ever so bad that you cannot make it still
worse. Therefore you will be wise to drop the whole affair, once and
for all."
Thus argued Decency and Caution, but opposed to them, in Bellingham's
troubled mind, were another pair of powerful allies, Desperation and
Curiosity. Clamored Desperation, "If you cannot find the money to pay
your debts, your creditors will very shortly complain to Mr. Hamilton.
There is no doubt of that; the proof of it lies in black and white on
the table in front of you. And when Mr. Hamilton learns of your
financial condition, he will discharge you at once; that is one point
about which he is most particular. You will lose this position, and
you will have difficulty in finding another; and thus you will drag
through life a failure, with the millstone of debt bound fast around
your neck."
So, with pitiless candor, spoke Desperation, and Curiosity, knowing
the glamor of adventure and the charm of the unknown, added
alluringly, "This is no ordinary mystery; Marshall Hamilton and Cyrus
McKay are two of the biggest men in New York. Opportunity, they say,
knocks but once, and this may be your life's turning-point. You cannot
disregard it."
Thus the secretary gave ear to all these arguments in turn, but in the
end it was the promptings of Caution that he heeded most, for the
primary instinct of self-preservation told him that life, even to a
man hampered by his debts, was still much to be preferred to death and
oblivion. Yet it was hard for him to think of wholly abandoning the
undertaking, and presently it occurred to him that there was more than
one method of solving the mystery, and that a compromise was not in
the least impossible. It was true that Marshall Hamilton had vanished
through a picture in the wall, but it was also true that Cyrus McKay
had disappeared into the woods adjoining the links; and while Caution
counselled him to avoid the gallery, Curiosity, on the other hand,
persistently insisted upon a vicarious pursuit of McKay.
Nolan, of course, was clearly the man for the job. He drove his
employer to the golf course; therefore he had the opportunity. He was
physically strong and courageous; therefore he would not shrink from
danger. And he was pleasure-loving and always in debt; therefore a
reward would be certain to appeal to him. Beyond question, Nolan was
the man.
"But is it right," asked Decency, "to send someone else where you
would not venture yourself?" To which query Desperation promptly
answered, "Oh, in this world you can't be too particular; it's a case
of each man for himself. There probably isn't any danger, anyway, and
if you should get hold of anything really valuable, you can make it
right with Nolan later."
Thus the discussion ended. "I'll try it," decided Bellingham, and
taking the receiver from the hook he telephoned to the stables and
ordered the motor in time to catch the next train for town.
An hour later, he emerged from the subway, and made his way rapidly
down the street in the direction of the garage where Nolan kept his
car. A sense of guilt oppressed him, and though he realized that his
fears were wholly groundless, he could not prevent himself from
casting occasional furtive glances to left and right, as though
apprehensive of pursuit.
At length he came to the garage, and hailing the first workman whom he
met, inquired if Nolan were around. The man jerked a thumb over his
shoulder. "Back of the shop," he answered briefly. "Sixth floor.
Freight elevator. Run it yourself." And went on with his task.
Bellingham made his way in the direction indicated, entered the
elevator and pulled the rope, and began his leisurely ascent past
floor after floor littered with cars--cars new and old, cars good and
bad, cars whole and cars dismembered--until he came to the sixth
story, where he stopped the elevator and to his joy discovered Nolan,
cigarette in mouth, seated placidly upon a bench at the end of the
room, superintending repairs, real or imaginary, upon Mr. McKay's
machine. Thrilling with renewed excitement, the secretary walked over
to him, and Nolan, when he recognized his visitor, greeted him
cordially.
"Hello, Mr. Bellingham," he cried. "Didn't expect to see you quite so
soon."
"Oh, just a little business matter," the secretary replied, trying
hard to make his voice sound nonchalant and under control. "Walk over
as far as the window, and I'll tell you what I want."
Nolan rose at once, and as soon as they were safely out of earshot,
Bellingham continued, "Look here, Jim, do you want to make some easy
money?"
The chauffeur grinned, and for answer inserted thumb and forefinger in
the pocket of his coat, exposing the empty lining. "Ah, say," he
rejoined, "don't ask me none of those easy ones. Try me with something
hard."
Bellingham felt his spirits rise. "That's the way to talk," he said,
"and here's what I want you to do. You remember taking Mr. McKay out
to Mr. Hamilton's day before yesterday to play golf. Well, he didn't
play; I know that for a fact. And what is more, I believe that he and
Mr. Hamilton have some kind of secret meeting-place near the golf
links. So the next time you go out there, I want you to drive away as
usual, and then, after you round the first curve in the road, you can
stop your car, double back along the wall, and trail after him to see
where he goes. And for your trouble, Jim, I'm going to be just fool
enough to give you fifty dollars."
Nolan deliberated. Fifty dollars was worth making, but his job was a
good one, and he had no wish to lose it. "Well," he answered at last,
"here's one trouble, right away. The boss is a pretty wise old guy,
and this trailing business is a new game for me. The betting is that I
trip over a tree, go on my nut, and when his nibs turns around and
asks me what the devil I'm doing there, why where's my alibi?"
"Alibi?" echoed the secretary. "Why, that's easy; there's nothing to
that at all. Mr. McKay keeps his clubs in the machine, doesn't he?"
"Yes, always," rejoined Nolan. "They're in there now."
"Then that settles it," said Bellingham. "All you need to do is to
take out his putter and hide it under the seat. Then when you start
after him, take the putter with you, and if by any chance he sees you
coming after him, just wave it around your head and tell him it
dropped in the car and you knew he needed it. How about that?"
"That," agreed Nolan, "is certainly good. Pretty smooth, I call that."
"Then you'll do it?" asked Bellingham eagerly.
The chauffeur did not hasten his reply. "Well," he said at length, "I
suppose I'm taking chances, after all, and I figure that if the job's
worth fifty dollars, it's worth a hundred."
The secretary did not stop to argue. "Very well," he assented, "a
hundred it is."
"And it's also worth," the chauffeur continued, "just about twenty
dollars down, to bind the bargain."
Bellingham drew out his pocket-book; then hesitated in his turn. "But
how do I know," he objected, "when you will be going out there again?"
"That's easy," Nolan answered, "because we're going this very
afternoon. So you're bound to get some action for your money, all
right."
Bellingham felt his nerves tingle with excitement, and without further
protest he handed the money to the chauffeur. "Good for you, Jim," he
said. "I'll be here to-morrow, at this same time, and I'll give you
the balance then."
"I'll be here," Nolan agreed, "and now I must get back and see that
those strikers don't put my car to the bad. If she don't run perfect,
I'll get it from the old man. So good-by, Mr. Bellingham."
"Good-by," echoed the secretary, and descending as he had come, he
walked quickly away up the street, greatly wondering what news Nolan
would have for him on the morrow.
Promptly at half past two, that afternoon, Cyrus McKay's motor stopped
at the gateway leading to the links, and as before McKay alighted,
took his clubs from the machine, and said to the chauffeur, "Four
thirty, Jim."
There was no sign of anything unusual in Nolan's manner. "Yes, sir,
four thirty," he answered, and touching his cap, he turned his car and
sped briskly away for the city. Yet no sooner had he turned the curve
of which Bellingham had spoken, than he began swiftly to execute his
plan. Drawing in to the side of the road, he shut off his power,
extracted his employer's putter from under the seat, and tossing his
cap, with its conspicuous black visor, into the car, he vaulted the
wall and began to work back toward the path. Fortune favored him, for
the underbrush had gained no hold upon the smooth masonry, and he was
able to make rapid progress, so that only a short time elapsed before
he regained the entrance to the links. His next task was to find some
trace of his employer, but a quick glance down the path revealed
nothing and Nolan, puzzled, walked straight ahead toward the links,
casting quick glances to right and left of him as he advanced.
Presently, halfway down the trail, a twig snapped to his left, and
quickly turning his head, he saw McKay slowly forcing his way through
the bushes in the direction of a circle of huge firs. At the sight,
Nolan's usual calm deserted him, and his pulse beat faster. "There
_is_ something queer, then," he thought, and bending low he crept
stealthily after his employer, like a hunter stalking his game.
Little by little, favored by his slighter build, he gained upon McKay
until the distance between them had been decreased one-half, whereupon
he tried to gain no more but was content simply to keep pace with the
man whom he was trailing. Straight onward toward the firs McKay made
his way, and when he reached them, instead of turning aside, he
stooped and began to seek an entrance through their branches'
barricade.
Nolan felt his wonderment increase. "The Devil," he murmured, and
fearful lest he might lose sight of his employer, he sacrificed safety
to speed, and stole rapidly onward until he too had reached the border
of the trees. Ahead of him, he could faintly discern his master's
form, and the continual snapping of twigs made it evident that he was
still advancing. For a moment Nolan stood motionless, uncertain what
to do. His heart was beating violently. If he continued to follow, the
pretext of the forgotten putter could hardly serve him as an excuse;
if he went on from this point, it was at his own risk. And suddenly,
for no apparent reason, fear seized him. In the shelter and silence of
the forest, he seemed to himself to shrink and grow small; the
solitude oppressed him; and he stood like a man in a dream, scarcely
breathing and noting, subconsciously, the beauty of the rifts of
sunlight which filtered through the trees. "I guess," he muttered,
"I'll be getting back." But even as he spoke the words, there sounded
behind him a faint twang, as of a cord released--
He was running, running and leaping magnificently, running as he had
never run before. Whither he was going, he could not tell, for the
power of sight had left him, but he felt that he was travelling
through space with incredible speed. A singular buoyancy had permeated
his whole being, so that it seemed to him that he was no longer upon
the earth, but was whirling over sea and land and sky. Onward he
swept, still onward--
But now, little by little, he could feel that his speed diminished,
and that he was struggling upward, like some submerged and drowning
swimmer, from darkness toward the light. Slower and slower he ran,
more slowly still--
His eyes opened. He was lying among the bushes, flat upon his face,
and he realized that he was in frightful pain, and that he gasped
painfully for breath; something was choking him; throat and lungs were
filled with it. And as his brain cleared, suddenly he knew, although
too far spent to conjecture what had befallen him, that he was very
near to death. He tried to move--
There was a trampling in the bushes, and a man in faded green stood
over him. Then he felt himself roughly seized by the chin, his head
was bent back, further, further--something gleamed and glittered in
the sunlight--
Calmly, and without emotion, the huntsman stood looking down upon the
murdered man. "Only three," he murmured, "in all these years. One in
my father's time; two in mine." And after a pause, he added, "How
could this man have known? And is he the only one, or will others come
to tempt their destiny?"
CHAPTER VI
Misery Meets Company
Daylight was fading; the shadows of the trees lengthened upon the
grass; yet Atherton made no move to leave the park, but still sat
motionless, oblivious to everything except the turmoil of his
thoughts.
From the office of Holt and Henderson he had walked blindly along,
heedless of his destination, until as he had neared the lake a sudden
weariness had seized him and he had sunk down upon a bench to rest.
For a time, he could scarcely convince himself of the reality of what
had occurred; seen in retrospect, it all appeared fantastic and of the
texture of a dream. But at length, as the afternoon wore on, and the
shrill clamor of the newsboys filled the park, he purchased a paper
and when he read, in black and white, the story of the day's decline,
his last hope vanished and he knew that this was no nightmare, but
reality, and that financially he was a ruined man.
At first, the burden of his calamity seemed too hard to bear. Fifty
thousand dollars! While he had possessed it, never dreaming of its
loss, he had not appreciated its magnitude, but now that it was gone,
he realized what a sum of money it was. So marvellously easy to lose;
so tremendously difficult to regain. But presently, since he was
young, and by no means a coward, he managed to recover his courage. He
had made a bad mistake, but so had other men; he had a difficult task
before him, but others had faced problems still more difficult, and
had triumphantly solved them. Therefore he resolved that beginning
with to-morrow he would put the past behind him, and would think only
of the future; but this afternoon he would not try to plan--his brain
was weary and the tragedy of the day was still too recent and too
deeply in his thoughts. And suddenly, as he lived over again the past
few weeks, it dawned upon him that he had been quite mad, and not he
alone, but all these other men who had sat and talked and laughed
their futile laughter while the narrow ribbon of the tape spelled ruin
for them before their very eyes. How had he dared, he wondered--how
did any of them dare--to speculate in stocks? What did they know of
real conditions throughout the world? In the papers they read bits of
news, already stale and cold, and this news they swallowed and
assimilated until at last they mistook its effect upon their minds for
the process of original thought. So it had been with him. Over and
over again, for days, he had read, first in one form, then in another,
the news that Steel was going up; until he had ended by believing it
with a fervor that nothing could shake; imagining, moreover, that he
had shrewdly reasoned this out for himself, that he was a good judge
of commerce, finance, trade--that because of his ability he could make
a fortune in stocks--he laughed ironically; disillusionment had been
absolute, complete, a hammer stroke--"The Boy Gambler," he murmured to
himself, "A Story of Punctured Pride."
Twilight deepened; the night breeze, grateful and refreshing, swept
across the water, and all at once Atherton remembered that he had not
eaten since his ill-omened luncheon and that he was ravenously hungry.
"It's lucky," he reflected, "that I've enough left for a meal," and
forthwith made his way toward the Sign of the Peacock, a café where he
knew that evening dress was not required, and where food, wines and
music vied each with the other in excellence.
The head waiter greeted him with his customary smiling welcome. "All
alone to-night, Mr. Atherton?" he inquired; and Atherton, answering
mechanically, "Yes, for one, please," was shown to a table near the
window, but no sooner had he seated himself than Henri, the second in
command, came bustling up to him. "Ze zhentlemen," he explained,
"across ze room--zey ask ze honnaire--" and he waved his hand with a
gesture deprecatory but inviting.
Atherton glanced in the direction indicated, and immediately
recognized the two men as friends and classmates of his college days.
Blagden, tall, dark, good-looking, had been one of those attractive
but unreliable students who are more brilliant than successful, more
admired than liked, so that on the whole his University course had
been more spectacular than satisfying. But though open to plenty of
criticism on other grounds, no one had ever denied him the qualities
of courage, coolness and "nerve," and these had won for him outdoors
the title of tennis champion, indoors the still more valuable
reputation of being the best poker player in college. The other man,
thickset, solid, rosy, with the neck of a bull, was "Tubby" Mills,
guard upon the eleven for three seasons; never quite of "All-America"
timber, but steady, dependable, and always managing to let the man
opposed to him in the line realize, before the game was ended, that he
had been through an afternoon of exercise perhaps more strenuous than
beneficial. Stolid but likable, "Tubby" made up in genial good nature
what he perhaps lacked in brains.
Atherton rose at once, crossed the room and took the vacant chair at
their table.
"Well, well," Blagden greeted him, "how goes it, old scout?" And so
strong is the force of habit that Atherton, despite the day's
reverses, rejoined, "Oh, first-rate, thanks. How is it with you?"
"Fine," Blagden responded, "couldn't be better. Everything lovely."
"And you, Tubby," said Atherton, turning to Mills.
"Oh, pretty good," the chubby one answered, and pushing the bill of
fare toward Atherton, he added, "Here, what will you have? This is on
me. Better try a porterhouse with onions; we've ordered some fizz."
Atherton followed his advice, and the talk, running back to college
days and college classmates, dealt for a time wholly with the past
until at last, after a pause, Blagden asked the question that Atherton
had been expecting, "And what are you doing with yourself now?"
Atherton hesitated; then, inspired perhaps by the comforting influence
of the steak and the "fizz," he answered impulsively, "Oh, I might as
well tell you the truth. I've been playing the market, and like a fool
I got in so deep that this drop to-day wiped me out. So I'm
practically busted, and wondering what I'm going to do next."
Having finished his disclosure, he awaited the conventional
expressions of sympathy from his friends, but to his surprise neither
of them spoke, and Blagden stared at Mills, and Mills at Blagden until
presently, somewhat to Atherton's resentment, both of them began to
grin broadly.
"Shall we tell him, Tubby?" asked Blagden at length. "Sure thing,"
responded Mills briefly. "He told _us_."
Blagden turned to Atherton. "Well, then," he observed, "to borrow a
phrase from the unregenerate and indefensible game of poker, this
appears to be a case of three of a kind. Last week, I was long of
twelve thousand bales of January cotton, and they dropped the market
on me one hundred and fifty points in two days, and beggared me to the
tune of about ninety thousand dollars. To-day Tubby, who has been a
terrible bear on wheat, and was short up to his eyebrows, got forced
out on the rise, and was stung for--how much was it, Tubby?"
"Oh, about thirty-five thousand," answered Mills regretfully, "between
thirty-five and forty. I bit off more than I could chew."
In spite of himself, Atherton smiled in his turn. "Well, I'll be
damned," was his first rejoinder, and then, as the real significance
of the coincidence dawned upon him, he cried, "What's the trouble with
this speculative game, anyway? Why on earth can't anyone beat it?
We're not all fools. Suppose a hundred men start speculating on the
same day? You'd naturally suppose, on some kind of law of averages,
that half of them would win and half would lose. But what's the
answer? The answer is that the whole darned hundred lose. I never knew
it to fail. And I'd like to know why. It can't be true that everybody
who invests money in cotton and grain and stocks is stark, staring
crazy. There must be some men who understand conditions, who possess
ability enough to calculate and plan; there must be some winners. But
if they are, I never heard of 'em. It's a mighty funny game."
"You're right," Blagden assented. "I've been doing some thinking
myself since last week; I've been asking the very questions you're
asking now. I can't find the answer, but I've got this far; I know why
poor idiots like you and me and Tubby get it in the neck. It's because
we play the game single-handed. And look at what we're up against.
This is an age of consolidation and co-operation. It's so in business
and it's so in the markets. Pools--that's all you hear nowadays--pools
in leather, copper, oil, cotton, corn. And we're fools enough, with a
few thousand dollars, to go into a game where you need millions. And
as for talking about understanding conditions, and calculating what
the market ought to do, why good Lord, Atherton, you ought to know
better than that. Speculation is only another way of spelling
manipulation. Prices don't _go_ up--they're forced up; they don't _go_
down--they're jammed down, and sometimes most curiously far, too. But
as for planning, calculating, reading, studying conditions--good
night!" And he refilled his glass.
There was a thoughtful silence. Atherton, pondering on what Blagden
had said, and remembering, also, what the trader at Holt and
Henderson's had told him, felt that his ideas of speculation had
undergone a violent change. So that at length he answered reluctantly,
"Well, it looks as though you were right. But I wish we'd thought of
this before. Now it's a case of 'They've got the money and we've got
the experience.'"
Mills leaned forward, planting his elbows comfortably upon the table.
"That's so," he agreed, "I never could see much sense in this _post
mortem_ business. The point is: What are we going to do next? And I
for one wish it distinctly understood that I refuse to be licked. I
started out to make a million dollars, and I'm not going to quit until
I'm put away in a box underground. You two fellows were considered
rather clever when you were in college, so instead of all this sob
stuff why don't you furnish some practical wisdom? What are we going
to do? How are we going to get our money back?"
Atherton gazed at his stocky friend, not without admiration for his
grit. "Blagden," he answered, "has made one mighty good suggestion.
Whatever we do, let's not continue this 'lone hand' business; let's
take his tip that this is an age of consolidation, and let's pool our
resources, such as they are, and see if we can't manage to do a little
better."
Mills grunted approval. "Good scheme," he assented. "We'll be a
regular trust. But when you say, 'resources, _such as they are_,'
you've put your finger on our weakest spot. If we have resources,
they're not in cash. What shall we call ourselves? 'The United
Brotherhood of Down and Outs'? Or is that too severe?"
But Blagden, the imaginative, suddenly caught fire at the idea. "No,
no," he objected, "nothing as crude as that. Give a dog a bad name and
hang him. I'll tell you what we'll call ourselves. 'Gentlemen
Adventurers.' That has the proper ring. Every morning we'll start
forth on a tour of discovery; then we'll meet and compare notes and
see if we can't combine our experiences to our mutual advantage."
"That sounds fine," Mills agreed, "but what kind of adventures are we
going to have?"
"Oh, Tubby, Tubby," cried Blagden. "If there's a more prosaic man in
the world than you are, I'd like to see him. Why, you miss the point
of the whole thing. If we knew just what was going to happen to us,
every day of our lives, where would the fun be? Where would be the
romance, the thrill? If you could see an adventure coming half a mile
down the road, then it wouldn't _be_ an adventure; it has to bump into
you from right around the corner. Do you get the idea?"
"Oh, sure," retorted Mills. "At least, I get what you think is the
idea. But that is the trouble with you poetical chaps; you can't
understand that this is a practical world, especially the dollars and
cents part of it. And if you're proposing that we leave here to-night
and start looking for adventure, why we'd better raise an emergency
fund at once. Because instead of finding money, we'll be losing it.
I've started looking for adventure lots of times in my life, and I
always bring up in one of two places--the police station or the
hospital."
"Oh, I don't mean that kind of adventure," Blagden hastened to
explain. "I mean the 'New Arabian Nights' sort of thing. We'll meet
princesses and potentates and you may take my word for it that it
won't be long before we're on the trail of some real money. We'll get
back all we've lost and more too."
He spoke persuasively, but Mills remained unconvinced. "Oh, it's easy
enough," he objected, "to talk like that in here, with the lights and
the music and a couple of glasses of champagne under your belt. But
nothing will really happen. We'll go out of this place and walk
peacefully home again, and in the morning we'll wake up and laugh at
ourselves. I only wish your dreams would come true, Blagden, but they
won't; they're all moonshine. The only real thing is that we're
broke."
But Blagden, always at his best under fire, rallied vigorously to the
support of his theory. "Nonsense," he cried, "you ought to be ashamed
of yourself. One minute you claim to be a fighter and the next you're
ready to quit cold. Why, the trouble with you--the trouble with all
three of us--and the reason we think there's no romance left in the
world is simply that we've gone stale--stale from sitting over the
ticker day after day, without a thought of anything else on earth
except the ups and downs of the market. I would gamble my last cent
that there's waiting for us, right here in this city, adventure enough
to fill a thousand books; adventures of riches and of poverty, of
romance and reality, of battle and murder and sudden death. Here's the
test. What day is this? Tuesday. Friday night, at nine o'clock, we'll
meet in my rooms and compare notes. We'll all three try our best in
the meantime and if by Friday no one of us has had an adventure worthy
of the name, no one of us has chanced on the slightest idea, the
faintest clue, that spells money, then I'll admit that I'm wrong and
that Tubby's right. Now then, you fat guzzler, isn't that fair?"
"Oh, sure, that's fair enough," Mills was forced to agree, "but I
don't believe--"
He stopped abruptly, gazing straight before him, and then, under his
breath, he murmured, "Great Heavens, what a peach!"
The girl who had entered the café and taken a seat at a table not far
from their own surely merited his praise. She was tall and slender,
faultlessly gowned in black, and her face, under the broad picture
hat, was of exceptional beauty, yet with an expression of mingled
indifference and assurance that bespoke a plentiful knowledge of the
world. She gave her order, began leisurely to remove her gloves, and
presently, as she glanced about the room, Atherton perceived, to his
surprise, that her eyes remained fixed upon their table with a
singular intentness. Nor was he the only one to notice this, for
immediately Mills observed, "By Jove, one of us seems to have made a
hit. Do you know her, Atherton?"
Atherton shook his head. "No, I haven't the pleasure," he answered.
And as the girl's eyes were suddenly averted, he added, "There was
something, though, about our table, that seemed to attract her. And
reasoning by the process of elimination, I conclude that it must be
Blagden."
"You flatter me," Blagden calmly rejoined. "Just my luck, though, to
be seated with my back to the lady. Is she really so charming?"
"Charming?" Mills echoed fervently, in a tone which answered Blagden's
question in ardent affirmative. And Atherton supplemented, "Yes, if
anybody happens to fancy that particular type, I should almost say
that she is as pretty a woman as I ever saw in my life."
"Why, this is wonderful!" cried Blagden. "This calls for personal
investigation. I don't suppose I can deliberately turn around and
stare, but we might as well be going, anyway, and I must see her, if
only as we depart."
They rose, and as they started to leave the table, Atherton noticed
that the girl's eyes were again turned in their direction, and almost
simultaneously was aware of a smothered ejaculation from Blagden. "So
you know her?" he whispered.
Blagden did not answer directly. "Just a moment," he muttered, "I'll
be right back." And walking swiftly over to the table, he exchanged a
few brief words with its occupant, and then rejoined his companions,
his face eager and expectant.
"I'll see you fellows later," he hurriedly explained; adding hastily,
"What do you think of my theories now. Didn't I tell you this was the
city of adventures. And mine is going to begin right here."
Mills grinned. "You always were a lucky devil," he cried enviously.
"Well, all I can say is that if this is the form our adventures are
going to take, they can't come too fast for me." And he and Atherton
walked slowly in the direction of the door, while Blagden turned and
made his way toward the girl who awaited him.
CHAPTER VII
The Adventure of Blagden
"It was two years ago," began Blagden, "on the beach at Trouville. I
shall never forget it. The sea and the sky were blue; the sands were
silver; and you were a marvelous mermaid, in gold and crimson, basking
on the shore. When I saw you, I felt such emotion that I began at once
repeating whole stanzas of Swinburne, appropriate to the occasion, and
rivalling the day in warmth. I hoped--"
But she interrupted him. "It is pathetic," she said, "that a memory so
tenderly poetical should be so much at fault. I am grieved for myself;
I thought I had made a more lasting impression."
"But my memory," he protested, "is not at fault. I remember perfectly.
It was a wonderful costume, almost worthy of its wearer. It was gold,
pale gold--"
"Oh, stupid man!" she cried, "we are not talking of costumes; what do
they matter? We are talking of our first meeting, and that was not at
Trouville at all. Trouville, although delightful, came later. Our
first meeting was at the races--"
"By Jove," he ejaculated, "you're right. So it was--Deauville races.
And you were in the grandstand, in the very first row--"
"That's better," she exclaimed. "Your memory is improving. I was
watching the horses parade before the opening race, and was suddenly
smitten with the charms of a beautiful bay named _Voyageur_.
Immediately I knew that I must bet five hundred francs on _Voyageur_.
The time was short--"
"And so," he smiled, "you made appealing eyes at me--"
"No, no," she contradicted, "I did not. Or if I did, I was quite
justified. You had been staring at me very rudely for some time."
"That is true," he admitted. "I couldn't help myself. But in any
event, we became acquainted, and I placed the money on your favorite.
I recall that distinctly. And I remember thinking, 'Poor girl; poor
lovely girl; she will surely lose.' And then _Voyageur_--"
She in her turn took up the tale. "Oh, wasn't it splendid?" she cried.
"A furlong from home, and we thought that he was beaten, and then,
like a flash, up he came, out of the ruck, past the leaders, won under
wraps, with his jockey sitting still, and both of us shrieking,
'_Voyageur_! _Voyageur!_' like mad."
"It was glorious," he agreed. "And after that do you remember the race
for two-year-olds, and my theory that in an untried field the odds
were all against the favorites winning? I suggested that we buy a
ticket on every horse in the race; you assented, and the theory proved
a magnificent success. We won a thousand francs--"
"And that night," she reminded him, "flushed with victory, we played
roulette. It was I who invented the system then, and unlike yours, it
cost us every cent we had made, and much more besides. Do you remember
that?"
"Of course I do," he answered. "It was the old story; we were winners,
but didn't know when to stop. But it was worth it; those were royal
days."
"And then," she continued, "came our ventures in the market. The rise
in rails that made us rich; and the cotton corner that beggared us.
You haven't forgotten those?"
"Forgotten them?" he echoed. "Could I forget? Ah! what times those
were!"
There was a pause. At length she said musingly, "Two years ago. Two
long years. And how has Fortune treated you? Bountifully, I hope."
Blagden smiled. "I was just complaining to my friends," he said, "that
she had deserted me. And now--she resumes her favors."
She bowed, half in earnest, half jestingly. "You are too kind," she
answered, "but seriously, I am sorry if you have not prospered."
"To be candid," Blagden admitted, "I have not. But I am not
discouraged. Being a Goddess, it is her privilege to be fickle; that,
I suppose, is her real fascination. But tell me how the years have
gone with you. Have you lived as you planned to live?"
She regarded him steadily, and without emotion. "Exactly," she
answered, "as I planned."
He was silent, returning her gaze. "Well," he rejoined at length, "if
it is a matter for congratulation, then I congratulate you. Is he
rich?"
"Oh, very," she responded. "You need hardly have asked me that?"
"Quite true," he answered. "Forgive my stupidity. And are you happy?"
"Why--yes," she replied more doubtfully, "I suppose so. I have a great
deal. I desire more."
"That," he said, "is the chief trouble with all of us. That, in fact,
was the reason for my recent undoing. I risked a moderate capital to
gain a fortune, and was wiped out. I lost everything--hook, line and
sinker."
"I am so sorry," she answered. "Was it in stocks?"
"Next door to it," he responded. "It was January cotton. By every test
in the world, by reasoning, by statistical information, by the opinion
of the trade, by the advice of brokers, by every known method of
determining values, January cotton was the greatest purchase in the
universe. It had to go up, that was all there was to it. It was
mathematically impossible for it to stay down. So I bought it, bought
it up to my eyebrows; and so, I imagine, did every Tom, Dick and Harry
in the Street. Result, a hundred and fifty point drop, swift and
sudden as a hurricane, and when it was over, scattered heaps of
financial corpses, of which I had the honor to be one. I had money,
desired more; and got--what I deserved."
She sighed sympathetically. "I only wish," she murmured, more to
herself than to him, "that I had known."
He regarded her with frank amazement. "What could you have done?" he
queried. "Prevented me from losing?"
"Yes," she answered gravely, "I think that I could. I, of course, know
nothing, but it happens that my friend is a great authority upon the
markets. He is never wrong."
Blagden smiled indulgently. "Oh, I've heard of those fellows," he
responded. "Don't think I'm rude, but there's no such thing in the
world as a man who's never wrong on speculation. He simply doesn't
exist."
"But you don't understand," she insisted. "He _really_ knows."
"Pure coincidence," he retorted lightly. "I've known of such cases. He
might hit it three times, four times, a dozen times, but nobody can be
consistently right. It's humanly impossible."
"It was over six months ago," she rejoined with conviction, "that he
told me to make my first trade. At my cottage he has had installed
tickers for all three of the markets. If he is there between ten and
three, he keeps close watch of them. And every so often he will say,
'Would you like some pin money?' And always I win, and never lose."
"Well," said Blagden lightly, "we won't quarrel over it. If you say
it's so, it's so. But why do you say that you 'desire more?' I should
consider you a very fortunate lady. If I could win every time I
gambled, I don't think I'd require anything else."
"Oh, yes, you would," she promptly answered. "If you were only allowed
to play every week or two, and in a very limited way, and under the
direction of another person, would that satisfy you? Of course not.
The point is here. I am only allowed to meddle with stocks as an
amusement--a plaything. But I want to know how he does it. Then I
should be satisfied, for I could make all the money I wished."
"But why so eager about money?" he queried. "You never used to be."
"In two years," she answered, "I have changed a great deal. I am
older; I hope wiser. I know that youth fades, that life itself is
brief. And before I die, I wish to realize a dream--a vision. I wish
to have the finest pleasure yacht in the world and to voyage north,
south, east, west, until I have seen all that there is to see upon
this earth. Hence my desire for money."
"Now I understand," he replied. Then added, more lightly, "You say you
'want to know how he does it.' Does it appear to be a kind of magic?
Does he make his profits in the same way that a conjuror extracts
rabbits from a hat?"
His levity nettled her. "You are provincial," she retorted sharply.
"You reason that because you have lost money in stocks, everyone must
do so. Often it is foolish to believe too much; but sometimes one may
believe too little."
He hastened to make amends. "I apologize," he said. "You are perfectly
right. And I am really immensely interested in your story. You think,
then, that he speculates with some sort of system?"
"I am sure of it," she answered with conviction, "and when I saw you
here to-night, I suddenly remembered many things that you had told me
about the market, and I wondered if you could not aid me now."
"If I may help," he assured her, "I am wholly at your service. Though
I fear I am somewhat at a loss as to how or where to begin."
"And yet," she rejoined, "there is a starting-point. I am confident of
it. Are you at liberty this evening?"
"Never more so," he answered.
"Then come with me," she said. "I have a taxi waiting." And Blagden,
assisting her to put on her wraps, escorted her to the motor, which
whirled them away from the city, mile after mile, until it finally
stopped at a pretty cottage, far out in the country, isolated and half
hidden in a miniature forest of trees, shrubs and flowers.
A trim maid answered her mistress's ring, then discreetly vanished.
"Now," she said, "I will show you what I mean," and leading the way to
the study on the floor above, she turned the switch and flooded the
room with mellow light. Blagden looked about him with interest. As she
had told him, over against the wall stood the three tickers, side by
side, and beyond them a desk and a telephone switchboard. In spite of
himself, Blagden was impressed. There was an orderliness, an
indefinable businesslike touch to the room and its contents which
seemed to make it evident that its owner was a man of affairs.
"Well," she queried, "do you believe me now?"
"Oh, it's not a question of belief--" he began, but she suddenly
exclaimed, "Wait a moment; I forgot," and hurriedly leaving the room,
she returned almost instantly with a small memorandum book in her
hand. "Now," she said, "look at this."
Blagden took the book and scanned the entries with care. Here was
fifty Reading bought at ninety-three and sold at ninety-eight; and
here one hundred bales of May cotton sold at eighteen, fifty-six, and
bought in at seventeen, fifty-two. A little further on were ten
thousand bushels of December wheat bought at a dollar, fifty-four and
closed out at a dollar, fifty-seven. Sometimes the gains were large,
sometimes small, but invariably, as she had claimed, each transaction
showed a profit. Blagden gazed, fascinated.
"Now," she said, "isn't it wonderful?"
"Wonderful," he echoed. "It's more than that. It's a miracle. If I had
met you six months ago, where would I be to-day? I'd be rolling in it;
I'd be worth a million."
Her face was as covetous as his. "You've been in the market for
years," she said. "Haven't you any way of finding out?"
"I don't know," he answered slowly. "Did you tell me in the café you
had a clew?"
She hesitated. "It sounds rather ridiculous," she answered, "but do
you think it's possible that the time of day can have anything to do
with the strength or weakness of stocks?"
He looked disappointed. "Oh, I've heard that talk down town," he
responded. "There are as many theories of speculation as there are
speculators. Everyone agrees that there's manipulation--flagrant
manipulation--though of course this is indignantly denied by everybody
connected with the Exchange. But how this manipulation is managed, no
two men agree. I've heard what you hint at, that the future course of
stocks is determined by their artificial strength or weakness at
certain hours of the day; two o'clock, some people think is the
significant time. Personally I never believed in it at all. Why do you
ask?"
"Because," she answered, "when he stands here by the tickers, he is
continually looking at his watch. I am not supposed to know this; in
fact, between ten and three I am excluded from this room; but I have
devised means of watching, and that is the peculiarity I have noticed;
that, and the jotting down in his notebook of memoranda which he
apparently copies from the tape."
Blagden looked puzzled. "I should be very slow," he said, "to believe
anything of the kind. And I should think you could manage this affair
without my aid. Considering your relations with this man, considering
your very obvious attractions, I should think the stage was all set
for a modern version of Merlin and Vivien."
She smiled a trifle bitterly. "I will confess to you," she answered,
"that the same thing occurred to me. In fact, I attempted it; and
failed utterly. Compared with this--" she indicated the tickers--"I am
the proverbial dust beneath his feet."
There was silence. At length Blagden spoke. "This fascinates me," he
said. "At first, I wholly disbelieved your story; now I do believe it.
And upon one condition, I will devote my time, my energy, my best
endeavor to the solving of this mystery. But the condition is
important."
She regarded him curiously. "Name it," she said.
He rose from his seat, and stood looking at her appraisingly, a cold
flame gleaming in his eyes. "It is this," he answered. "You liked me,
I think, in the old days, but I was a poor man. I am a poor man
to-day. But if we fathom this secret and gain the keys to Paradise,
then let us make the building of your yacht a joint enterprise, and
let us make the cruise--together."
She too had risen and now stood looking at him with a faint smile upon
her lips. "Ours," she responded, "is a quite exceptional friendship.
You are a man and I am a woman, and yet we have the great advantage of
thoroughly understanding one another. If you can grant me my desire, I
will reciprocate. I accept your offer, and I wish you success."
CHAPTER VIII
The Adventure of Tubby Mills
At the street entrance to the café, Mills and Atherton came
momentarily to a halt. "Well," observed the stout one, "we've got to
hand it to Blagden. He's what you might describe as the original
Tabasco. Yet it's no credit to him that he finds adventures; they just
naturally come his way. He couldn't dodge 'em if he tried. See what's
happened to him now; do you suppose either of us is going to run into
anything like that?"
Atherton, still under the spell of Blagden's eloquence, was gazing
forth upon the crowded thoroughfare, with its hurrying throngs of
pedestrians, and its multitude of motors, passing and repassing
incessantly under the glare and brilliance of the bright white lights.
"I think," he slowly answered, "that anything is possible. Blagden is
right. Ninety-nine men out of a hundred live and die in a rut. It has
to be so; that is life. But if the hundredth man is so situated that
he may range the world at will, with eyes open and every sense alert,
I believe, with Blagden, that he will find adventure awaiting him at
every turn in the road. It's tremendously exhilarating. Here we take
leave of each other; you go one way, I go the other, and what we may
discover we haven't the shadow of an idea. I think we ought to thank
Blagden for waking us up. I haven't felt so keen about living since I
can remember."
"Blagden," said Mills, "is a queerer combination than most of us. He's
an artistic sort of chap, with all the merits and defects of the
artistic temperament. He always makes me think of an airship with its
steering gear shot away; he goes like the very deuce, but you can't
tell what his destination is, or at what moment a gust of wind may
veer him from his course. Prince or pauper; he may become either; but
he'll never be one of your commonplace mediocrities."
"You're right," Atherton agreed, "and to-night, at least, I envy him,
though I imagine that in the end your plodder is perhaps the happier
man of the two. He may get less out of life, but he risks less.
Thrills and ills are apt to go together."
His companion laughed. "Well, we've got to risk it," he answered.
"We're committed now to a life of adventure, whether we like it or
not. I'm going to vary your phrase. 'Thrills for Mills' is going to be
my motto. And we must make a start, Atherton; our time is short.
Good-night and good luck; we'll see each other Friday."
He raised his hand in farewell, and started leisurely down the street.
People by tens and hundreds and thousands surrounded him, enveloped
him on every hand, yet of all the multitude he seemed to be the only
wayfarer who was not hurried, preoccupied, intent upon his own
individual affairs. "This," he concluded, "is too much like the middle
of the stream; what I want is some quiet backwater, where there's a
chance to pause and breathe."
Leaving the main street, he walked east for several blocks, and
turning again parallel to his original course, found himself in one of
the poorer residential districts of the city. As he had divined, here
there was incident to be encountered, but of too sordid a nature to
bear the remotest resemblance to genuine adventure. Old men, ragged,
unkempt, muttered requests for a night's lodging, for food, or more
openly for the price of a drink. Younger men, of sinister exterior,
eyed him as he passed and noting his bulk, allowed him to go on his
way unmolested. Women of the street, in gaudy finery, their white
faces daubed with scarlet in ghastly mockery of health and beauty,
ogled him leeringly, and Mills, sophisticated city dweller though he
was, felt his heart sicken at the thought of their venal trade. "If
there was some attraction," he thought, "some seduction, that would be
one thing. But these wrecks--these walking corpses--it's horrible."
By this time, he had traversed several blocks, and the chances of
adventure seemed each moment to be growing slimmer. "I'll go home," he
reflected, "and go to bed. And in the morning I'll make a round of the
brokers' offices; perhaps I'll be able to pick up news of something
really good." And having thus allowed his mind to return to the
subject of the market, he began to dream, like all defeated gamblers,
of some wonderful way of "getting square with the game." "Cotton," he
mused. "A man could make money in cotton. I got in too deep; that was
all. If a fellow would only stick to small lots, and regular rules--"
A touch upon his arm aroused him, and he wheeled to confront a girl of
a very different type from those whose demeanor had so disgusted him.
She was evidently of the working class, but she had the instinctive
good taste to dress according to her station, leaving to others the
garish footgear, the semi-nudities of costume, and the overpowering
stench of cheap perfume. And thus, in comparison with her companions
upon the street, she looked so refreshingly youthful and ingenuous,
and her big eyes were so appealingly pathetic that Mills, for the
first time, began to feel that an adventure, even in this locality,
might be both possible and enjoyable.
"I ask your pardon," she said, "for speaking to you, but I am in great
trouble, and I thought that perhaps you would be willing to help me."
Mills, still only half aroused from his meditations, stared at her
uncomprehendingly, and as he did so was struck afresh by the girl's
air of innocence. Her eyes still gazed trustfully into his, her hold
upon his arm was not relaxed, and as a result Mills presently found
himself replying guardedly, "Why, I might. What's wrong?"
She gave a sigh of relief. "Oh, you are so good," she cried. "I was
sure of it when I saw you. And I need someone to help me so badly.
Only--" she added shyly, "let's not stand here. It's so conspicuous,
and this is a horrid neighborhood; people are always talking. Just
come with me; it's only a step--"
Mills hesitated. Perhaps, if he had taken a little less wine, he might
have been more suspicious; possibly, if she had not slipped her arm
confidingly through his, he might have been less avid of adventure;
but as it was, he yielded, and as they walked along she lost no time
in acquainting him with the story. It was not she herself, it
appeared, who was in trouble, but a friend of hers named Rose, who was
only eighteen years old and as beautiful as a picture. Rose, it
appeared, had been sought by a policeman on the beat, but being as
virtuous as she was pretty, she had indignantly rejected the overtures
of this immoral man. Whereupon he had threatened to "get" her, and
promptly made good his threat by employing a skillful shoplifter to
"plant" some articles of jewelry upon the person of the persecuted
Rose. She had been arrested; her case was coming up for trial
to-morrow; and alone in the world, she did not know, in her
predicament, where to turn for aid. Thus her friend had been prompted
to go forth and look for help, and had been attracted by the
prepossessing exterior of Mills. "I knew you looked good, the moment I
saw you," she repeated, and as she uttered the words, her voice was
tremulous either with grief or with some other emotion. Mills was
frankly puzzled. The tale struck him as extremely wild and improbable,
but on the other hand he was enjoying the society of his guide, and
the opportunity of seeing the lovely Rose strongly appealed to him.
Just how this meeting was to benefit the Order of Gentlemen
Adventurers was perhaps not quite clear, but Mills' mind was not, by
this time, working along the lines of strict logic; emotion, rather
than pure reason, was in the ascendant. And in any event, he would
have had little time to ponder the matter, for the walk, as his guide
had promised, was a short one, and he presently found himself
following her into a tenement of rather dubious exterior, and up
countless flights of stairs whose atmosphere wholly failed to appeal
to Mills' somewhat fastidious nostrils. More than once, during the
climb, strong suspicion assailed him, and his better judgment
counselled flight, but the fear of being a "quitter" restrained him,
and he continued his ascent until presently he surmounted the final
flight, and found himself in a room somewhat barely furnished, but
with an air of comfort and refinement which renewed his confidence in
his guide.
She laid aside her hat and coat, and as she turned toward him, he
observed with pleasure that she was really exceedingly pretty. "Rose
will be here right away," she observed; then, listening for a moment,
she added, "There she is now," and Mills, listening in his turn, could
hear a light footfall ascending the stair. But in another instant his
companion's face turned white. "My God!" she cried, "it's my husband.
I thought he was out of town. What on earth shall I do? He mustn't
find you here."
Mills gave her one searching glance, muttered grimly to himself,
"Well, I'll be damned," and making no effort to escape, sat motionless
in his chair, his eyes fixed upon the door, which opened the next
moment to admit a small, sinister looking man, who gazed at the couple
before him in a manner forbidding and malevolent. Nor were his first
words reassuring. "What the hell is this?" he cried, and advancing
toward Mills, he demanded truculently, "What the devil are you doing
here?"
The girl sprang forward. "Don't hurt him!" she cried. "It's my fault.
I oughtn't to have listened to him. But he wanted to come. He said
he'd pay me well--"
Her words acted as an infuriant upon this slender but dangerous
looking man. "I'll teach you swells--" he hissed, and like a flash he
whipped a pistol from his pocket and levelled it at the head of the
unfortunate Mills.
For an instant the victim gazed stolidly at the menacing circle of
steel; then, with an air of complete detachment from his surroundings,
he made an equivocal and wholly unlooked-for rejoinder. "Got a
cigarette?" he asked.
The outraged husband glared. From past experience on many such
occasions he was quite prepared for men who grovelled and begged for
mercy, and once in a great while he had learned to look for a man who
showed fight, but a retort like this was distinctly a novelty. And
since the question scarcely admitted of a direct reply, he responded
with a snarl, "Now don't get gay, young feller, don't get gay."
Mills turned to the girl. "I call that tough," he observed
conversationally. "Here I want to register courage, and the only real
way to do it is to light a cigarette. I love to see 'em do it on the
stage, and now when I have a chance myself, all I can do is just say
I'm not scared. But it's not the same thing; it ruins the effect."
The girl eyed him keenly, her face noncommittal, expressionless. The
man continued to glare. Mills did not look like a lunatic, and the
girl, as a rule, managed to "pick them" to perfection. Yet this time
it appeared as though she had made a mistake, and while he hesitated,
uncertain as to his next move, Mills obligingly relieved his
embarrassment by continuing, "What you want, of course, is to get
money out of me or else to damage my reputation. But unfortunately for
you, I have neither reputation nor money. As far as reputation goes,
I'm a small town guy, unknown in New York, and as for money, I've been
playing the wheat market, and if you're looking for my coin, why, as
the funny man says, 'I'll help you look.' I'm sorry to be such a
disappointment--" he turned once more to the girl--"but this is the
time you got the wrong pig by the ear."
The pseudo husband stared fixedly at Mills as if trying to make up his
mind as to the truth of his story; then evidenced his belief by
abruptly returning his pistol to his pocket, and to relieve his
feelings began to vent his indignation upon the girl. "By Gad, you're
clever," he exclaimed, and since he did not possess a large vocabulary
and depended principally upon repetition for his effects, he added,
after a momentary pause, "You're clever, by Gad."
The girl's brow darkened. Evidently she did not take kindly to
criticism, and casting about for some means of defence, she jerked her
head in Tubby's direction. "Well," she countered, "look at him."
Her four words worked wonders, for Mills, quick to perceive their
point, first grinned, then laughed, and finally, partly as a relief
for overstrained nerves, partly because the true humor of the whole
affair now suddenly dawned upon him, fairly shook with merriment,
while the girl, watching him, forgot her resentment and relaxed, until
finally she too joined in his mirth, and even her saturnine companion
permitted himself the luxury of a grin.
"But see here," cried Mills at last, "I'm not stuck on my looks, or my
shape, but the old badger game--why that's positively an insult. Why
didn't you sell me a gold brick and be done with it? You must have
thought I was a cinch."
"I did," she retorted, "but don't you care, Fatty, you're all right.
The joke's on me; I'm sorry I tackled you."
"Well, it's on me, too," he admitted. "You did a good job. Let's call
it square, all around."
The man with the pistol had come forward as they talked, and now stood
directly in front of Mills, regarding him with a fixed and searching
gaze. "Just one minute, now," he cautioned. "A square answer to a
square question. There's no double cross to this? You're not going to
leak to the bulls?"
"Not much," Mills answered. "Live and let live. I've no kick coming."
Apparently the man was content. "Then see here," he continued, "if
you're busted, I can find you a job. My name is Stoat. This old
badger stuff isn't my regular line; in my day I was called the best
second-story man in New York, and I could turn a good trick now if I
needed to. But there's safer games than that; I've had a fake
promoting scheme under my hat for a long time, and with your front we
could make a killing. With a few little changes you'd be the honest
miner to the life you and I and the kid here could work the thing to a
frazzle. What do you say?"
Mills hesitated. The change from full pockets to empty ones had
wrought a distinct alteration in his moral code. Yet partnership with
Stoat was not an attractive prospect. "I don't believe," he
temporized, "I'm the man you want. I never mixed up in anything like
that."
Stoat yawned audibly. "Well, it's late," he said, "and I'm most
cursedly sleepy. I was sitting into a game all last night, and I've
got to get to bed. Think this thing over, and if you want to give it a
go, drop around to-morrow sometime. You'll be making no mistake; it's
safe as can be, and there's big money in it, too."
Mills got up and started for the door. "All right," he agreed, "I'll
think it over. Much obliged for the offer." And to the girl he added,
"Good night. When you see Rose, remember me to her."
She laughed. "Say," she answered, "you fell for that easy, like all
the rest of 'em. It's a shame to do it. But you're a pretty good guy.
You come around to-morrow and we'll talk business."
Once more upon the street, Mills gazed around him with fresh
appreciation. How near he had been to death he could not guess; his
knees felt as they used to at the finish of a three-mile run. To the
lights, the noises, the people on the street, he warmed with a new
affection. "I'm mighty glad," he muttered, "that I'm still in the
picture." And more pensively than was his wont, he turned his steps
toward home.
CHAPTER IX
A Message from the Past
Bellingham for the twentieth time consulted his watch, and finding
that it still lacked ten minutes of midnight, he rose, walked over to
the window, and stood looking out into the night. In the distance he
could see the bulk of the stables looming through the darkness, and
near at hand the huge lone pine tree towered in silhouette against the
sky; yet his mind was not fixed upon what was before him, but was
reviewing once again the events of the day, events which had occurred
scarcely twelve hours ago, but which seemed, in retrospect, to have
taken place ages since, in the shadow of some dim and distant past.
He could see himself, a distinct and separate entity, leaving the car
and hurrying toward the garage, alert, expectant, eager to find Nolan
and hear what he had to say. From the same man whom he had seen before
he had sought to discover if Nolan was in, and the man had nodded with
a curt "Yep," but when Bellingham was half way to the elevator his
informant had called him back to explain, "Say, hold on a minute; I
forgot; Nolan's quit his job."
The secretary could feel again the sinking of the heart, the shock of
disappointment the words had caused. "Quit?" he had repeated, and the
man had replied, "Yep. He's quit. New man on the car; a Swede. He's up
there if you want to see him." But Bellingham had muttered something
about its being a personal matter, and still in a daze, had made his
way out of the garage, perplexed and disheartened, and vainly
wondering what could possibly have happened to the chauffeur.
It was not an easy problem to solve. Certainly the money he had
advanced could have been no temptation to Nolan; twenty dollars was
nothing compared with the keeping of a good position. And if the
chauffeur's abandonment of his job had not been voluntary, of
necessity it must have been involuntary; it appeared as though he must
have been detected in his pursuit of his employer, and met with a
summary dismissal. Yet if this were so, why could he not still have
kept his appointment with the secretary. There seemed to be no
satisfactory solution, yet as a practical matter none was necessary;
of what importance were theories when he knew that the actual result
was a complete failure of his plans to gain information through the
instrumentality of Nolan. And as a result he would now be forced to
act himself; no choice was left to him; whether he liked it or not, he
must assume the risk.
Thus, throughout the remainder of the day, he had laid his plans, and
now was decided as to his course. But the hour for action had not yet
arrived; two o'clock in the morning was the time he had chosen; and
thus he lighted his spirit lamp, made and drank two cups of coffee,
and then, setting and muffling his alarm clock, he lay down, fully
clothed, upon the bed, to gain a little rest before setting out upon
his tour of exploration. But before many moments passed, he realized
that the setting of the clock was a needless precaution; the strain he
was under added to the stimulant he had taken made sleep an
impossibility. And curiously enough his brain, which should have been
intent upon the adventure before him, now cast back through the years,
and as he lay there he could see, projected against the curtain of the
dark, pictures long since forgotten, detached and yet connected,
leading with merciless precision to the miserable predicament of his
latter days.
Behind the house lay a broad expanse of meadow, gay with flowers and
traversed by a brook which had its source in the hills adjoining the
farm. Hither, in his boyhood, he made an almost daily pilgrimage, but
not to gather the violets and the buttercups which lined its banks, or
to hunt for blackbirds' nests in the swamp below. The attraction for
him had been altogether different. With his jack-knife he would
fashion boats from shingles, imagine them in his mind to be racing
yachts, under clouds of sail, and starting them, with scrupulous
fairness, amid the ripples of the stream, he would run headlong down
the field, just able to keep pace with the current, and watching with
breathless interest the outcome of the contest, as the tiny craft
swept around promontories, skirted the shallows, and finally crossed
the finish line, to be rescued with a forked stick, and carried back
up the meadow to race and race again. How had he come to play this
game? No one, as far as he could remember, had taught it to him; he
had been only six or seven at the time, but the memory persisted, the
thrill of the struggle, the eager brook and the no less eager boy--
The scene shifted. Some one had given him a game of "steeplechase,"
and a new world was born. As clearly as if it had lain on the bed
beside him, he could see the oval of the board, the horses, bay,
black, white and gray, and he himself, cheeks flushed, heart
throbbing, sitting entranced hour after hour, casting the dice, and
watching and recording the result of every race. Later had come his
college days, with the thrill of real racing; the Futurity, the
Suburban, the scramble of dainty thoroughbreds with the bright silks
of their jockeys gleaming in the sun. But before this he could dimly
recall his first knowledge of the stock market, when his father,
forbidden for a time to use his eyes, had asked his son to read to him
the quotations in the evening paper. Bellingham could remember that he
had made sorry work of it, so that his father, usually the kindest of
men, had lost his temper and had soundly berated him for his
stupidity. Other days, too, he could remember, of alternate exaltation
and depression until the afternoon when he had come home to find his
mother in tears, and his father had taken him by the shoulder and said
gravely, "Hugh, you must promise me one thing. Never, so long as you
live, must you have anything to do with the stock market. It has been
the curse and ruin of my life. It must not ruin yours, too." Boylike,
he had promised, but a dozen years later, when the lure of the Street
had bewitched him, he had not regarded his promise, and with the few
thousands at his command, had started to make his fortune. How he had
despised the men who traded in ten-share lots; "pikers," he had called
them; for it had seemed to him that to deal in hundred and two hundred
share lots, on a slender margin, was evidence of true gameness and
grit. But this period had not lasted long; soon the ten-share lots
became a necessity, and finally an impossibility, until the fatal day
when he had borrowed money on a story that was two-thirds a lie, and a
week later had seen a quiet, lagging market suddenly declined with
incredible rapidity, leaving him hopelessly in debt, and now at the
mercy of his long-suffering creditors.
So passed the pictures before his eyes, from the boy running beside
the brook to the desperate, harried man. Inheritance or not, here had
been the keynote of his life--the love of a contest, a race, a
struggle, the thrill of the unknown gamble, the possible chance. And
in other ways he had been sane and normal; as men go, a decent sort of
man. A sense of injustice surged within him. Was it fair? If a good
God ruled the world, why did he implant these fierce desires in the
breasts of his children? Why did he change a world of joy and beauty
into a hell of discontent? Why did he--
With a start, he came to himself. How long, he wondered, had he been
dreaming? The flashlight showed ten minutes of two, and silencing the
alarm, he rose, and in his stocking feet crept cautiously to the door
of his room and out into the hall. For good or ill, his hour had come.
The 'house was absolutely still. And suddenly, oppressed with the
strain of the day, unnerved by the strangeness of his errand, he
seemed to himself to be moving in some fantastic nightmare, and he was
seized with a panic of fear, so that he could scarcely control his
impulse to return as he had come and to abandon his reckless quest.
But after an instant, he managed to conquer his quivering nerves, and
concentrating all his energies upon his task, he stole down the
hallway like a shadow, entered the gallery, and found himself standing
before the portrait through which the banker had made his unexpected
exit three days before. Copying, as well as he could recall it, the
posture of his employer, he pressed with his forefinger here and there
upon the canvas, but without result until he reached the hilt of the
pictured sword, when almost before he realized what was taking place,
the portrait, as before, swung back, and the gateway of adventure lay
open before him.
A hundred times, during the day, the secretary had made his plans, and
thus, without losing an instant, he entered the orifice, drew his
knife from his pocket, and wedging the narrow space between the
portrait and the wall so that his retreat would not be closed to him,
turned to examine the staircase that lay at his feet.
It was a slender spiral of steel, apparently extending downward for an
indefinite distance, and so narrow that there was scarcely an inch of
superfluous space on either hand. Without hesitation, Bellingham
started to descend, listening from time to time and hearing nothing,
until at length he reached the bottom and found himself in a low
passageway, with a door at the end. The secretary's heart sank.
"Locked," he thought to himself, but equally to his surprise and his
delight, the knob turned in his hand, and he entered a small chamber,
with a second door at the further end. This additional exit, however,
was securely barred, and finding his progress cut off in that
direction, Bellingham turned his attention to the room itself.
A first glance afforded him small encouragement. To open the massive
safe was clearly impossible; the sideboard was empty; and the desk in
the corner, though it appeared, at first sight, to be a promising
hiding place, proved, on closer examination, to contain nothing. The
secretary's heart sank. Evidently his hopes were vain; his dream of
romance gave place to prosaic reality; and with a pang of keenest
disappointment he stood ready to admit defeat. Yet since he had risked
so much, he decided that before leaving he would make one final
search, an investigation of the room so careful and minute that he
would be certain that he had overlooked nothing.
Accordingly, he first approached the sideboard, hunting around, behind
and under it, removing and replacing each drawer in turn. Yet his
efforts were in vain, and when he next transferred his attentions to
the desk and began a similar exploration there, he met with no better
success until he had removed the last drawer of all, and then, for the
first time since he had entered the chamber, he experienced a
momentary thrill as the flashlight revealed a crumpled paper which had
fallen between the back of the drawer and the rear wall of the desk.
Inserting his arm, he brought it forth to find that it was torn, faded
and yellow with age, with some words quite illegible and others
missing altogether. Yet piecing it together as best he could, he made
an attempt to decipher its contents, and the next moment, so intense
was the shock, so overpowering the revulsion from despair to
exaltation, that he found himself staggering backward as if from a
blow, grasping at the table behind him to save himself from actual
physical collapse. But the next moment, as his heart once more sent
the blood coursing through his veins, he rallied, and without losing a
second he returned the drawer to its place, glanced hastily around to
make sure that he had left no traces of his visit, and then made his
way as quickly as possible up the staircase, through the opening in
the wall, and once more regaining his room, he locked the door, lit
his reading lamp, and began a systematic study of his prize.
It took only a few moments to make him realize that the task of
deciphering the document was to be one of almost insuperable
difficulty, but at the same time it became increasingly evident that
he had made a discovery the importance of which could scarcely be
exaggerated. The paper was a plain sheet of foolscap, apparently a
rough draft of a final copy,--torn into eight pieces, of which to
Bellingham's chagrin it now appeared that two--the lower rectangle on
the right and the third from the top on the left--were missing. In the
upper right-hand corner of the paper was the date, January 1, 1882,
and beneath, in the middle of the sheet was a heading of which the
first word was almost wholly obliterated, but the remaining four, "of
the Money Gods," were comparatively clear and distinct. Under this
heading were five sub-divisions, the numerals 1, 2, 3, and 5 showing
plainly at the left, while the missing 4 would evidently have been
written on the first of the two pieces which were lacking. And now,
patiently and with infinite effort, straining his eyes over the dull,
discolored paper and the faded ink, Bellingham succeeded in bringing
out a word here and there until under the first numeral he had an
actual sentence, though still with gaps where the wished-for word
stubbornly resisted his search. "Most men ---- fools ----blers by
nature ---- easiest way ---- to ---- in stocks."
The second sentence, for some reason or other, was much more
distinctly written, and in a short time the secretary had produced,
"Fundamental plan; bull market, sell ---- top; depress; bear ----ket;
buy at bottom; give shorts ----."
But it was the third sentence which proved to be the most startling
of all. It was very brief, containing only eight words, of which part
of the first and the last four were all that the secretary could
read. But they were quite sufficient to make him gasp. "Communi----
---- signals on the tape." The letters, pregnant with meaning, stared
him in the face, and made his breath come quick and fast as he threw
an apprehensive glance into the darkness behind him, as though
dreading the wrath and vengeance of some ghost from another world.
Almost beside himself with excitement, he toiled on. But the fourth
sentence, with its missing fragment, told him little, for while the
words were clear enough to the eye, they conveyed no message to his
brain. On the upper line were the words, "On the watch," and directly
beneath them, "for these signals," but the loss of the left hand
paper, and the absolute impossibility of conjecturing what other words
completed the sentence, made this portion of the message apparently
valueless.
Equally tantalizing was the message under the figure five. The
sentence began clearly enough, "The basis will be 1/4 3/8 1/4 if ----"
and then came the blank occasioned by the second missing fragment of
paper; while the sentence, resumed on the left-hand portion of the
document, continued, "5/8 1/2 5/8 if down. Buying and selling ----"
then once more the inevitable hiatus, and finally the three words, "on
a scale." And this was the end.
The secretary sat gazing straight before him, his brain in a tumult.
Coincidence well nigh incredible had led to this discovery, and now
left no doubt in his mind that rumors which had been current in the
Street for years, but always laughed to scorn by the whole fraternity
of brokers, were true, after all. And suddenly, with irresistible
conviction, facts, remarks, events, never before understood, now
crowded to his mind, clear as crystal in the light of his present
knowledge. Signals on the tape. More than once he had heard the story,
told with bated breath under pledge of strictest secrecy. But here was
proof. And for him, individually, this ancient document revealed all
the glories of a new world. And thus, bending once more over the
paper, Bellingham toiled until the first light of the dawn crept in at
the windows, and rising unsteadily from his desk, he saw staring at
him from the mirror a worn and haggard face which he could scarcely
recognize as his own.
CHAPTER X
The Adventure of Atherton
Atherton stood on the steps of the café watching Mills' departure
until his friend's broad back and sturdy shoulders were swallowed up
in the crowd; then, descending to the street, he strolled leisurely
away in the opposite direction. But although, as he had just said to
Mills, Blagden's enthusiasm had inspired him, he now concluded that it
was not at this particular moment that he desired adventure, for there
is a limit to human endurance, and the experiences of the day had left
him exhausted both in body and mind. So that in spite of Blagden's
counsel as to keeping constantly on the alert, he threaded his way
through the throng absent-mindedly, his thoughts, through force of
long habit, reverting instinctively to the ticker, whose sudden plunge
downward had proved so ruinous to all his hopes and plans.
At length, however, as he turned aside from the main thoroughfare, he
was roused from his abstraction by the sight of an automobile standing
motionless at the curb, while the chauffeur cranked away manfully, but
without result, and a tall, well-built man of middle age, evidently
the owner of the car, stood looking on with a frown upon his brow. The
whole affair was commonplace enough, and presumably Atherton would not
have given it a second thought, if it had not been for the girl who
stood at the man's side; but at the sight of her, her beauty and the
charm of her radiant youth suddenly made him forget everything else in
the world, and under the pretense of looking into a neighboring
window, he lingered for the pure delight of stealing an occasional
glance at her, already determined that as soon as the car took its
departure he would contrive to note its number, so that he might learn
its owner's name.
But a still better opportunity was to present itself, for presently
there came an explosion, not from the car but from its owner. "That
will do," he said crisply. "You can't run an automobile, and never
could. You're discharged. Go to the garage and tell them to send for
the car, and come out to-morrow for your pay and your clothes."
Without protest, and almost as if glad to escape thus easily, the
chauffeur vanished around the corner, and immediately Atherton, lover
and master of motors, saw the Goddess of Adventure beckoning to him
alluringly. At once he stepped forward, and asked, "Beg pardon, but
may I help you?"
The owner glanced at him sharply. "That depends," he retorted, "on how
much you know about a car. I doubt if you could know any less than the
idiot I was fool enough to hire. If you want to try, go ahead."
Without the loss of an instant Atherton began his investigations.
"Spark's all right," he muttered; then, sniffing the air suspiciously,
he added, "but I can smell gas; she must have sprung a leak." And
inserting his hand under the carbureter, he brought it forth again,
his palm dripping with gasolene. "Feed pipe," he decided, but shrewdly
surmising that the owner would care more for results than for
explanations, he kept his knowledge to himself, and drawing his knife
from his pocket, he dropped on his knees beside the car and after a
few moments' deft manipulation, rose, walked forward, and gave the
crank a vigorous turn. There followed two or three spasmodic reports,
after which the engine, once more receiving its normal supply of gas,
settled down to work and began to whirr away in perfect and melodious
rhythm. Whereupon Atherton, who by this time was beginning to find
enjoyment in the situation, approached the owner of the car and
touching his cap, reported, "All right, sir; she'll run now."
The owner eyed him keenly. "Good," was his brief comment; then added
in a tone that was half a statement, half a query, "You're not a
professional chauffeur?"
There was a moment's silence before Atherton, seized by inspiration,
answered, "Well, not exactly, sir; not at present. The fact is, I'm
looking for a situation."
Again the keen appraising glance, followed by question and reply.
"You're a good driver?"
"Yes, sir, I can drive a car."
"My name is Hamilton. I live near Rosecroft, about twenty miles out of
town. Do you want to drive me there?"
This time Atherton did not hesitate. At once he recognized his
patron's name, and became aware that here was a genuine adventure, an
opportunity not to be disregarded. And accordingly, striving to adopt
a tone appropriate to his new employment, he responded respectfully,
"Yes, sir, I'd be glad to."
Hamilton turned to the girl. "Jump in, Helen," he said, and to
Atherton, in the manner of a man thoroughly accustomed to giving
orders, "Now find the nearest telephone; ring the Central Garage and
tell them that I shan't need them, after all. Do it as quick as you
can, and then come back here."
He stepped into the motor, and Atherton, smiling to himself, hastened
to carry out the banker's orders, and then returned to the car, eager
to discover what the outcome of this adventure would be, and
determined to show his passengers that he had not overstated his
ability as a chauffeur.
Nor did he disappoint them, although as a matter of fact he had every
opportunity for producing a favorable impression. The roads were
perfect, the car behaved splendidly, and aided by occasional brief
instructions from Mr. Hamilton, in a little over an hour from their
departure he entered the winding driveway, experienced a momentary
glimpse of wide lawns, shrubbery and stately trees, and brought the
car to a halt beneath the portico. Immediately the door opened, and a
dark, dapper-looking little man in livery came down the steps to meet
them, alertly enough, yet as it seemed to Atherton with the air of one
a trifle unaccustomed to his surroundings. And that this impression
was correct became evident when Mr. Hamilton, alighting, looked at the
servant in some surprise and then as if suddenly recollecting said,
"Oh yes, you're the new second man. Where is Martin?"
"Martin, sir," the man answered, "has retired. Shall I tell him that
you are here?"
"No, never mind," answered Mr. Hamilton. "Ask the housekeeper to get
us something to eat." And turning to Atherton, he added brusquely,
"You said you were looking for a situation. Do you want this one?"
The question, under the circumstances, was not wholly unexpected, and
Atherton, during the drive, had had ample opportunity to make up his
mind as to his answer. So that now he replied promptly, "Yes, sir.
Very much indeed, sir."
"Satisfactory references?" asked the banker, and Atherton, knowing a
number of men upon whom he could rely, responded, "Yes, sir."
Whereupon the financier, without further questioning, observed, "Very
well then, you're engaged on trial." And to his daughter, "I'm going
to ask Bellingham to show him to his room. By the way, what's your
name?"
"Atherton, sir," answered the new chauffeur.
"Very well," said Hamilton again. "Wait here."
He disappeared within the house, but Helen Hamilton, instead of
following him, remained standing on the porch, and presently, with
frank approval, she remarked, "You drive a car very well indeed. Much
better than the other man."
At her words, Atherton felt as if the genial warmth of his romance had
suffered a sudden chill. The other _man_. He did not care for the
term, for it made him realize that although he had obtained a foothold
in the Hamilton family, he had gained it by means of the rear entrance
instead of the front. He was a servant, Mr. Hamilton's _man_. But
though at first resentful, he soon had the grace to perceive that
after all his position was of his own choosing, and accordingly he
answered deferentially, "I thank you, miss, very much indeed."
There followed silence, and Atherton, fearing that she would depart,
was racking his brains to discover some method of prolonging the
conversation, when she solved the problem for him by continuing, "I am
really very glad that we met you to-night."
Immediately, Atherton felt a glow of joy, only the next instant to
have his hopes again dispelled as she added, "It is an excellent
chance for you. Mr. Bellingham will give you all the details, but I
know that for one thing if you suit my father he always allows his
chauffeurs two sets of livery free."
Atherton gazed at her, wondering if any object underlay her words. Her
glance was sincerity itself; her tone seemed blandly philanthropic;
yet Atherton could not make himself believe that the daughter of
Marshall Hamilton would stand upon the porch of her house at midnight,
discussing the terms of his employment with an unknown chauffeur. No.
Even if he flattered himself unduly by the assumption, he imagined
that she must have detected at least a trace of the gentleman in his
demeanor, and was trying to draw him out. Yet despite his blind and
adoring infatuation, he promptly decided that if this were her
purpose, he would give her no satisfaction, and therefore with assumed
eagerness he answered greedily, "That's very generous of him, miss.
And I hope, miss, he don't object to something with a bit of life to
it. A purple, miss, with a red stripe, is tasty; very rich and tasty
indeed."
If she was puzzled by his reply, she did not show it, but whether at
the vision of the "tasty" suit, or for some other reason, she broke
forth into silvery laughter, so bewitching that the enraptured
Atherton, in another moment, might have capitulated and revealed to
her the secret of his identity, if the door had not opened to announce
the return of Mr. Hamilton, followed by a good-looking young fellow,
apparently some four or five years Atherton's senior.
"Bellingham," said the banker, "this is Atherton, who is to take
Rawlings' place, temporarily at least, perhaps permanently. I wish you
would show him his room, and explain to him the customary routine.
Have the car ready at half past eight."
Bellingham acknowledged the introduction with a nod, jumped into the
car, and they started at once for the stables. Atherton's first
impression of his new acquaintance was not particularly favorable, for
the secretary was evidently preoccupied and hardly spoke until he had
conducted the new chauffeur to his pleasant and comfortable room in
the upper portion of the stables. But here, as he lit the light and
for the first time had a fair chance to see what the new arrival
looked like, a sudden change came over him, and after a somewhat
prolonged scrutiny he suddenly exclaimed, "Well, I may not be in a
class with the well-known Mr. Holmes, but if descriptions and family
resemblances count for anything, I should say the odds were about a
hundred to one that you were a cousin of Billy Atherton, Princeton,
'12."
It was Atherton's turn to stare. "Right you are," he answered. "Do you
know Billy?"
"More or less," responded Bellingham. "We roomed together for four
years."
And suddenly Atherton remembered. "What a fool I am!" he cried. "Hugh
Bellingham, of course. I never thought of it. Why, I've heard about
you from Billy time and again."
They stood gazing at each other, and at precisely the same moment
both of them began to grin. "I suppose," said Atherton, a trifle
sheepishly, "that you're wondering about this fool chauffeur
business--"
But Bellingham cut him short. "My dear fellow," he rejoined, "I'm not
wondering at anything. It's none of my business what you are. And as
far as that goes, you have an equal right to wonder at my job; I fear
it's not a very exalted one for a college graduate to hold. But we're
neither of us on the witness stand. All I can say is that I'm glad
you're here, and if there's anything I can do to make you comfortable,
or anything I can tell you about the household, why just fire away and
ask me what you please. I'm quite at your service."
There was a sincerity in his tone that Atherton appreciated. "You're
mighty good," he answered, "and there are some things I'd like to
know, but first, if you don't mind, I'd like to explain my being
here." And forthwith, while Bellingham seated himself on the side of
the bed and listened attentively, Atherton briefly recounted his
misadventures in the market, his meeting with Mills and Blagden, and
his subsequent search for adventure, with its most unlooked-for
ending.
When he had finished, Bellingham sat for some moments in thoughtful
silence before he replied, "Atherton, we're getting pretty
confidential on short acquaintance, but of course it's not as though
we were absolute strangers. And I want to take a liberty, and give you
a piece of advice. The man who does that is usually a fool, but you
will understand me better if I follow your example, and tell you just
why I am in my present position. When I was a year or so older than
you are now, I made the same mistake that you have just made. I went
broke in the stock market, tried for over six months to land a job,
and finally found employment with Mr. Hamilton, and have been here
ever since. So at all events there is a bond of sympathy between us."
"By Jove, I should say so," Atherton answered, "and I imagine, if we
knew the truth, we could find a long list of fellow sufferers."
"Not a doubt of it," replied the secretary, "and that leads up to what
I wish to say. If you're like me, if you're like ninety-nine men out
of a hundred, you'll find that after a while you'll forget your
lesson, and you'll rake and scrape to get money together to go back
into the game again. And what I want to urge upon you, most earnestly,
is just this: Don't do it. I'm not at liberty to tell you all I know,
but I can tell you this: You can't beat the game, and to go on trying
is nothing more nor less than dashing your head against a wall. It's
suicide in either case."
Neither his earnestness nor his good-will could be misunderstood, and
Atherton was quick to respond, "I don't doubt that you're right, and
I'll surely remember what you say. But I don't think I'm going to be
tempted again; I believe I know when I've had enough."
The secretary was silent. Presently he rose from his seat and
nervously paced up and down the room before he finally came to a halt
in front of the new chauffeur.
"Atherton," he said, "doubtless you'll think I'm crazy, but I assure
you that I'm not. And you can't appreciate what a godsend it is to me
to have you here. I want to ask two favors of you, and I repeat that I
was never more serious in my life. Do you mind letting me tell you
what they are?"
The events of the day--and night--had been so many, so varied, and so
nearly akin to those of a "movie show," that Atherton had reached a
point where he felt really incapable of experiencing surprise at
anything. And therefore he simply responded, inelegantly but heartily,
"Why, sure, fire ahead."
"Then first," said the secretary, "if at any time during your stay
here you think you discover anyone in the household, from Mr. Hamilton
down, trying to spy upon me, either by daylight or dark, I want you to
promise that you will let me know as soon as you possibly can. Are you
willing to do that?"
"Of course I am," responded Atherton. "I'm afraid I'm not worth much
in the detective line, but I'll keep my eyes open, and let you know if
I see anything out of the ordinary. That settles number one; what's
number two?"
"This," Bellingham answered. "If I had to leave very suddenly, could
you give me an address in the city where I could go and stay for a
little while, in case I wanted a temporary hiding-place? I mean a
house where I could be sure that I could trust the occupants; the
quieter the locality, the better for me."
Atherton pulled out his memorandum book, tore out a page, and scrawled
Blagden's address across it. "Here's the very place," he answered.
"And if I find that you've left, I'll get in touch with Blagden at
once and tell him to be on the lookout for you. The neighborhood is
just what you're after; old-fashioned and peaceful."
Bellingham took the paper and thrust it into his pocket. "That's
fine," he said with evident relief, "and thank you for being willing
to take me seriously. Perhaps some day I can explain everything to
you; I might even be able to reciprocate your kindness."
Atherton smiled. "You can reciprocate right now, if you'd like to," he
responded. "I'd like to ask you just one question. Is Miss Hamilton
engaged to be married, or anything like that?"
Bellingham stared; then smiled in his turn. "So that's it," he
rejoined. "Well, now the chauffeur business becomes clear. And I'm
glad that I may relieve your mind. No, there have been plenty of
applicants, but I don't think the right one has yet appeared. I
believe she is still heart whole and fancy free."
Atherton heaved a sigh of relief. "I'm glad to hear that," he
answered, and unable to remain quiet, he leaped to his feet, and in
his turn began to pace the room. "Bellingham!" he cried, "she is--she
is--" but the words would not come, and his very silence bore witness
to the fervor of his love.
Bellingham, in spite of his worries and anxieties, threw back his head
and laughed aloud. "My dear fellow!" he cried, "you're certainly hard
hit. But let me tell you this. I've known Miss Hamilton for three
years, and I can testify that no finer girl ever lived. I wish you
luck, Atherton, although I must say that just at present I should
think you were laboring under quite a handicap."
At the thought of his poverty, Atherton's face fell, but the next
moment he regained his confidence. "A handicap," he retorted, "makes a
fellow do his best. If I hadn't lost my money, I should never have met
Miss Hamilton; and by Jove, Bellingham, it's worth the price. I don't
regret it."
At this reasoning, the secretary smiled, but he answered kindly,
"Well, I think you deserve to succeed. But I'll leave you now, for
it's late, and you must be tired."
They parted at the door, and Atherton, left alone, began slowly to
disrobe, reflecting earnestly upon the events of the last twelve
hours. "Some day," was his conclusion. "Some hectic day." And at the
thought of his friends and the meeting in the restaurant, he added,
half aloud, "I'll have to admit that Blagden is a wonder. 'Adventure'
is certainly right."
CHAPTER XI
A Fresh Start
"But I shouldn't think," said Helen, "that you would be satisfied to
remain a chauffeur. There's no future in it; it's only rather an easy
way of earning a living."
Atherton was silent. He had risen early and thoroughly overhauled his
engine, and on his appearance at the house had discovered, to his
delight, that Helen had decided to accompany her father on his trip to
town. They had left Mr. Hamilton at his office, and after making some
purchases in the shopping district, Helen had taken her place beside
him on the front seat of the car, and they had started for home.
Quite evidently, thought Atherton, feminine curiosity was still
unsatisfied. She had begun, with the elaborate and obvious artifice of
the sex, to talk on general subjects, gradually, however, narrowing
the scope of the conversation until it had centered upon Atherton
himself. But while, on the one hand, she had the advantage, by thus
taking the offensive, of being able to direct the talk as she pleased,
Atherton, on the other, through his inferior social position and
through the necessity of managing the car, was able to present a
strong defence, and contrived, by answering her queries either in
monosyllables or with evasion, to leave her as much in the dark as
ever.
To this course he had steadily adhered, for while he had no real
objection to telling her the true state of affairs, yet he feared that
if he did so she might repeat the story to her father, and that
Marshall Hamilton might regard his past with disfavor and forthwith
give him his discharge. And this was the last thing Atherton desired,
for with the coming of morning he had grown each moment more eager to
retain his "job." In the first place, after his long sojourn in the
city, his surroundings themselves delighted him. The song of birds
which had awakened him, the fresh, pure air, the radiant sunlight, the
soft green of the fields, all the sights and sounds of the country
seemed to refresh and reinvigorate him. Then, too, there was his
acquaintance with Bellingham, and a natural curiosity regarding the
mystery which surrounded the secretary's actions and the strange
requests which he had made. And finally there was the novelty of the
whole situation; the charm of feeling himself disguised, of playing a
part, put him on his mettle to do it well, and the ordeal of breakfast
below stairs, with the august Martin presiding at the head of the
table had kept him on the alert in his anxiety neither to overdo nor
underdo the role of chauffeur. There was distinctly a spice of
excitement about the whole affair; he was still young enough to enjoy
it as a "lark." A pretty housemaid had made admiring eyes at him; less
pleasantly, he had imagined that once or twice he had detected
Jenkins, the new second man, eyeing him with concealed but deliberate
scrutiny. On the whole, it seemed to him that he had acquitted himself
well, and thus he still had courage, even with so charming a
cross-examiner, to continue to enact the part of Atherton the
self-satisfied chauffeur, and not of Atherton the gentleman in
adversity. And accordingly, after thoughtful consideration of her
remark, he answered perversely, "Well, miss, there's many advantages
to a chauffeur's job. It's apt to be steady, and it's considered very
genteel, miss; very genteel, indeed."
The girl's expression, he thought, showed disappointment at his reply,
but before she could answer they swept around a turn in the winding
road, and the beauty of the scene before them was sufficient to make
them, for the moment, oblivious of all else. A broad blue stream of
troubled water, fed by many a clear and sparkling mountain brook,
rushed headlong down the valley, its whirling eddies gleaming with the
silver of dashing spray and the gold of dancing sunbeams. Above the
bridge which lay in their path the river was wide and comparatively
shallow, but below the bridge the banks narrowed sharply; the water
deepened; and a couple of hundred yards further down went roaring and
booming over the falls which furnished power for the mill whose
machinery hummed and whirred beside the eddies of the foam-flecked
pool. And to complete the picture's charm, in the middle of the bridge
a boy leaned against the railing, casting his line into the stream
below, while by his side two little girls romped and played with a
half-grown puppy of some nondescript breed which wriggled and leaped
and whirled hither and thither, in pure delight at being alive to
enjoy the wonders of such a delightful and interesting world.
To avoid all chances of injury, Atherton brought the car down to a
snail's pace, and thus they crossed the bridge in safety, but as the
wheels of the motor struck the road upon the further side he heard
behind him a sharp and terrified yelp from the dog, followed almost
simultaneously by a shrill cry of anguish from his playmates.
Instantly Atherton's hand was on the brake; the car jerked jarringly
to a standstill; and in another second he had leaped out and had
regained the middle of the bridge.
What had happened was only too evident. The puppy, in the course of
his mad gyrations, had approached too nearly the edge of the bridge,
had lost his balance, fallen, and was now being swept rapidly away
down stream. For the little girls, it was plain that the end of their
world had come; after their first instinctive cry, they stood
motionless, with parted lips, their faces white and rigid with grief
and terror. There was no time for reasoning or for counting the cost;
no time for anything but instant action; and with the speed of
lightning Atherton stripped off his coat, poised for an infinitesimal
moment, and then plunged, head foremost, into the flood. The impetus
of his dive carried him under, but as he came to the surface and shook
the water from his eyes he saw that his aim had been true, for the
puppy was only a few feet away from him, its head just visible above
the rush of the waves, as it battled valiantly, but vainly, for its
life. A couple of quick strokes and Atherton had grasped it with his
left hand, and thanking fortune that he could use the English side
stroke, he struck out as best he could with his unencumbered arm. Nor
did he save his strength, since a quick glance above and below showed
him that his task would be no easy one, for the speed of the current
was tremendous, and already the bridge seemed far away, and the brink
of the falls loomed ominously near. Yet on the other hand the stream
was narrow, and once freed from the burden of the dog, he could have
reached the shore in a dozen powerful strokes. But as it was, with his
left arm useless, it was hard to keep his head and shoulders clear of
the water, and half blinded, he struggled on, never dreaming of
releasing his hold upon the puppy, but fully conscious that at best it
was going to be a case of touch and go. The seconds passed, the roar
below him grew louder, and at length, taking time for one quick
glance, he saw that the falls were less than fifty feet away, and that
just at their brink, before the downward rush of the river began, a
jagged rock jutted out from the shore into the stream. Here, then, was
his chance, though but a slim one, for swimming is one of the most
taxing exercises in the world, and his long hours beside the ticker
had softened him and relaxed his muscles so that now, just when he
needed it most, his lack of condition told upon him and began steadily
to wear him down. And thus, summoning every remaining ounce of energy,
he lashed through the water until as though through a mist he saw the
rock come into view just below him. One stroke more and it was
abreast--the boom of the falls deafened him--he choked, gasped--now
his moment had come--he reached desperately for the rock, grasped it
only to have his clutch torn loose--he had missed it, his chance was
gone--he had lost his fight--
Down the bank flashed headlong a gleam of white; the girl's lithe form
was thrown prostrate upon the rock; her arm leaped out, her hand
caught his, and she braced herself, every muscle stiffening under the
strain; then slowly, inch by inch conquering the force of the current,
she drew man and dog to safety, and a moment later bent over them as
they lay prone upon the bank.
Atherton's eyes were closed; his breath came in quick, uneven gasps.
"Are you all right?" she cried, and although he made no direct reply,
he contrived a vague gesture toward the draggled ball of yellow fur at
his side. "Look after--pup," he managed to articulate, and was
satisfied to lie still, while the sunshine whirled dazzlingly about
him, and the baffled river roared past at his feet.
But the dog needed little help. Nervous shock--if puppies are subject
to nervous shocks--seemed to be all that ailed him, and presently he
sat up, very moist and somewhat dazed, to greet the children who now
came tearing down the bank, their grief changed suddenly to wild
delight. For the little girls, the dog was all that mattered; and
gathering him, all dripping as he was, into their arms, they loaded
him with caresses and endearments, and without a thought of Atherton,
bore him away toward home. But the boy, old enough to be a hero
worshipper, lingered to gaze admiringly as Atherton at length sat up
and began to wring the water from his clothes. "Say, mister," he
volunteered, "you done that slick," and abashed by the sound of his
own voice, hastily departed to see that the incident was adequately
described at the farmhouse. And thus Helen and Atherton were left
alone.
Little by little, Atherton's composure returned. The world ceased
revolving; his heart beats steadied; and immediately he was admiringly
conscious of the girl's courage and skill. So that presently,
forgetting for the moment his efforts at disguise, he exclaimed with
all sincerity, "I don't see how you did it! There's no doubt you saved
my life!"
But the girl was evidently not thinking of her own share in the
rescue. "If I did," she answered, "I am glad. But you were very brave.
It was a great risk to take for a dog."
"Well, I always liked dogs," he pleaded in extenuation, "and he was a
cunning little rascal, too. He looked so tiny and helpless down there
in the water; it didn't really seem quite fair."
There was silence. For Atherton, the world had suddenly taken on new
and brighter colors, for the girl's expression plainly showed her
admiration for his act. And at length, summoning all his courage, he
asked, "If I should ask you a truthful question, would you give me a
truthful answer?"
Far down in the depths of her eyes there gleamed a sparkle of
merriment, but otherwise her face was quite grave as she responded,
"Of course." And with the slightest possible accent upon the pronoun,
she added, "_I_ am always truthful."
But he did not choose to notice the implication. "Then," he asked,
"when you saw me last night, did you think I appeared to be an
ordinary, everyday chauffeur, or did you notice any signs of--what
shall I call it--of a gentleman in reduced circumstances?"
"As for reduced circumstances," she answered promptly, "I never gave
that a thought, but as for thinking you were a gentleman, yes, that
certainly occurred to me. And really, Mr. Atherton--" again, though
ever so slightly, she stressed the "Mr."--"I fear that the theatre
isn't your vocation. Your conception--that is the word, isn't it--your
conception of the chauffeur's part is very crude indeed. It is a quite
frightful combination of a stage Englishman and a vaudeville butler."
His face fell. "Now isn't that too bad!" he exclaimed ruefully, "and I
thought I was doing it so well. I am terribly discouraged."
"Oh, but you needn't be," she responded. "To be an actor is a fine
thing, but there are other things even better. For instance, to be a
life-saver is infinitely nobler."
She spoke between jest and earnest, and Atherton, for the first time
since his ducking, laughed. "Considering the size of the pup," he
answered, "the title is far too grand. But I'll accept it, just the
same, to save my pride. And if you don't mind, I should like to
explain this business of the chauffeur," and very briefly, and without
the mentioning of names, he ran over the adventures and misadventures
of the preceding day. "And so," he concluded, "you can see that I've
made rather a mess of things. But I wish--I'd like to--" he began to
flounder helplessly, then got himself once more in hand, and went on
steadily, "You'll think I'm an awful bounder for saying this, but I'll
probably never have another chance, and coming so near to the edge of
things as I did just now seems to make life a lot more real. I want to
say just this; that I admire you tremendously, and I wish I'd had the
good luck to meet you before I made ducks and drakes of all my
prospects in life."
And now, having had his say, he was suddenly amazed at his own
temerity, and did not dare look at her until at length, as she
remained silent, he ventured to steal a glance at her face, and was
relieved to discover that she did not appear to be displeased. She was
gazing straight before her into the whirling eddies of the river, and
presently she turned her head and answered him, and as she did so he
was struck afresh by the simple charm and directness of her manner.
"If you admire me," she said, "I am very glad, and I assure you it is
quite mutual. I like a man to be brave, and even more, I think, I like
him to be kind. And as for your misfortunes, I don't think you should
regret them. You see, I know something about stocks, and the
market--my father and I have always been great pals--and I'm sure the
game isn't worth the candle. I'm sure that every man who possibly
can should be doing some hard, honest work--work that will somehow
count--and stock gambling most emphatically doesn't count. So I
believe your losses are a blessing in disguise."
He knew that she spoke the truth, and hastened to acknowledge it. "You
are quite right," he admitted, "but it's sometimes hard to live down a
reckless past. I should like nothing so much as a fresh start, but can
I get it? I don't think it will be easy."
She meditated. "The question is," she said slowly, "what can you do
best?" And with a gleam of mischief, she added, "We'll omit the stage,
but all the rest of the world remains."
He smiled a trifle grimly. "I'm badly equipped, I know," he responded.
"The usual college education, and that is about all. But I am a fair
mechanic. Motors especially. I've always loved them, and sometimes I
can make them do things that other people can't. I believe, if I could
get a chance in the automobile business, I could make good."
She thought again. "I see a way," she said at length. "My father, as
you perhaps know, is a man of wide interests. Among other things, he
and his friends have just taken over two or three big motor companies,
and are going to consolidate them. I'll arrange an interview for
to-night; you can tell father your story, and perhaps he'll help you.
At any rate, I'll tell him what you did this morning; that ought to
show him that you have courage, and that you know how to make up your
mind."
Atherton stared. There was a business-like directness about her which
made him realize that she was a true daughter of Marshall Hamilton.
"You're very good," he answered gratefully. "I'd like nothing better
than a chance like that."
"I'm happy to help," she said, and as she rose to her feet, she added,
"And now, if you've recovered, we must be going. I've a luncheon
engagement that I mustn't miss."
He jumped up at once, his knees still a bit unsteady, but his heart as
light as a feather, and feeling, as they made their way back toward
the motor, that the falling of the dog into the water had sufficed to
change the whole course of his fortunes.
That night, at eight o'clock, he was received in Marshall Hamilton's
study, and for twenty minutes was subjected to a rapid fire of
questions, searching but not unfriendly, and aimed with a skill that
made Atherton understand and appreciate why his employer was a
successful man. To the matter of his stock losses Mr. Hamilton came
back more than once, but apparently he was willing to forgive this
indiscretion, for at the end of their talk it was arranged that
Atherton should continue as chauffeur until Monday night, and should
then be given a chance in one of the factories of the new company to
see whether he could reascend the ladder from which he had been so
rudely displaced.
So his opportunity had come to him, and as he left the house and made
his way back to the stables, bright visions of the future filled his
brain, and he dreamed over and over again, as young men have dreamed
since the beginning of time, dreams of youth, dreams of fame, and
above all else, dreams of love.
CHAPTER XII
The Flight of Bellingham
On the narrow balcony outside his room Atherton sat alone in the
darkness, looking forth upon the splendor of the night. Above him
stretched the velvet blackness of the heavens, jewelled with bright
and luminous stars; from the distant woodland sounded, in ceaseless
iteration, the music of the whippoorwills; while from the meadows the
south wind, bearing the fragrance of the fields, stirred the ivy on
the stable walls and murmured nocturnal melody among the branches of
the slumbering pines. Beauty everywhere, on earth and in sky; beauty,
it seemed to Atherton, in perfect unison with the thoughts which
filled his brain.
"Ye shall be born again." The old Biblical phrase, long forgotten,
echoed and re-echoed in his mind. And in his case he knew that it was
true; that the events of the last three days had altered the whole
current of his being. Already the old life--the feverish hours around
the ticker, the crowd of gamblers, the close, stale air of the
customers' room, the glare and dazzle of the lights--all of these
things seemed part and parcel of another world. Now they were gone,
and gone, too, was that horrible concentration on points and
fractions; quarters and eighths; to Atherton, gazing upon the calm and
silent glory of the night, it seemed incredible that he could ever
have lived through times like these.
Midway in his mind, between that past hell and this present heaven,
lay the memory of his meeting with Blagden and with Mills. And once
again, as he recalled that evening, it seemed to him impossible that
he could have been a party to the compact they had made. Like a
drunkard only half sobered after a debauch, he knew now that although
he had not realized it he had still been under the spell of the
market, a beaten gambler, yet in the grip of the lure and lust of the
game. Yet his agreement caused him no real uneasiness, for though at
the time Blagden's magnetism and his ready eloquence had made all that
he had said seem plausible and sane, now, viewed from this distance,
the idea of three young men, without money and without influence,
solemnly banding together to defy the world, appeared quite childish
and absurd. And yet, so far as he was concerned, he was compelled to
admit that in one particular Blagden's judgment had certainly been
correct; a true adventure had awaited him. How, he wondered, had Mills
and Blagden fared. It was difficult to imagine Tubby in any very
melodramatic role, but Blagden, after his meeting with his fair
acquaintance, seemed destined inevitably to encounter some sort of
romance or intrigue. And as Atherton thought of the woman at the café,
with her splendid beauty so flauntingly for sale, a sudden sequence of
comparisons and contrasts flashed through his mind. There was the life
of the ticker, feverish, fascinating, fruitless, ringing empty and
hollow when set over against the sane and wholesome life of the man
who works for his livelihood. And in like manner there was this
traffic and barter of illicit love, morbid, exotic, supersensual,
paling to quivering shame when compared with true love, something so
earthly and yet so celestial, so passionate and yet so ethereal, so
bewildering and so enthralling that it would not let him sleep, but
kept him here in the darkness, while the clocks struck twelve, and
half-past, and one--
Among the shadows surrounding the house occurred a subtle
transformation--a change half sound, half motion, and so faint
and evanescent that Atherton, still partly in dreamland and only
semi-conscious of the real world about him, regarded it incuriously,
oblivious of its real significance. But an instant later he became
thoroughly awakened as he saw one of the shadows detach itself from
the rest and begin to move, cautiously and without noise, in the
direction of the stable. Atherton looked on with interest. "Now who
the dickens," he wondered, "can that be? And what in the world is he
after? This is a cheerful hour for a man to be taking a walk for his
health."
The general attitude of the figure, indeed, suggested secrecy, if not
something still more sinister. Slowly and warily it advanced, but the
stable was evidently not its destination, for as it passed the huge
pine in front of the house it approached it, little by little, until
at last the shadow of this nocturnal prowler became lost and merged in
the lower branches of the tree. At once Atherton's curiosity
increased. "I'd better have a look at this," he decided, and stepping
into his room, he slipped his revolver into his pocket, passed quietly
down the stairs and began making his way toward the tree. At the edge
of its lower branches, which swept the ground, he paused to listen,
and heard above him faint sounds which seemed to indicate that this
midnight marauder was ascending the tree. Completely mystified, he
dropped on hands and knees, and as he crawled inward, an occasional
descending branch or bit of bark made it evident that his supposition
was correct.
Atherton's wonderment increased. "Must be a lunatic," was his first
thought, but this seemed scarcely possible. Then why, he reflected,
should a person wish to climb a tree at this time of night? To signal?
For what purpose, and to whom? To keep some kind of a watch, or
lookout? This seemed more likely. Could the man be a burglar, with a
confederate working in the house? "If I go up after him," he thought,
"he'll surely hear or see me. And if I hail him when he comes down,
I'll probably get into trouble right away. If he _is_ a burglar, he's
doubtless a good shot and a quick one, too. I think I'll play this
safe." And climbing up some eight or ten feet from the ground, he
found a place where two huge limbs grew close together, and working
out as far as possible from the trunk of the tree, he stretched
himself out at full length and waited. Occasional faint sounds reached
him from above and presently the figure again descended, passing so
near him that even in the darkness Atherton gained the impression that
the man was of slender stature, somehow suggesting vaguely the
identity of Martin's new assistant. Waiting until it seemed safe,
Atherton slipped down to the ground in his turn and reached the
circumference of the branches just in time to see the shadow once more
disappear upon the veranda. Presumptively, then, the man was not a
burglar, but an inmate of the house.
But for what purpose had he climbed the tree? "I believe," concluded
Atherton, "that I'll go up myself. Must be a bully view, if nothing
else."
Accordingly, he began his ascent, memories of similar climbs in
boyhood coming vividly to mind as he mounted higher and higher. The
first part of his journey was made in darkness so profound that there
was no possible chance for observation, but when he reached a height
about two-thirds of the way to the top the branches began to shorten
rapidly so that presently he found that he could command a view of the
stable upon one hand and of the house on the other. The stable was in
total darkness, but when he turned his attention to the house he at
once discovered that one window was brightly lighted and his heart
quickened at the sight, for there was now at least a possible
explanation of the mystery. Who's room was it, he asked himself, and
although totally unfamiliar with the interior arrangement of the
house, he felt that considering the secretary's story everything
pointed to Bellingham as its occupant. Again he started upward, but it
now became a question whether or not he could obtain a glimpse of the
room, for he had reached an altitude where the trunk of the pine had
decreased dangerously in size, so that every puff of wind swayed him
giddily to and fro. Undoubtedly, his predecessor's lighter weight had
been an advantage, but Atherton's curiosity was thoroughly aroused and
setting his teeth he advanced foot by foot until at length, with one
arm clasped tightly around the trunk of the pine, he had gained a
height whence he could view, through the open window, the interior of
the room.
As he had expected, it was Bellingham's apartment. The secretary, a
green shade over his eyes, sat at his desk, working with concentrated
absorption upon the papers before him. To his right and left were
scattered about the room what at first appeared to be streamers of
white ribbon, but which Atherton presently recognized as the paper
"tape" which supplies the tickers and upon which are recorded the
daily transactions of the Exchange.
"A chart fiend," thought Atherton to himself, "working in secret, as
they always do. I wonder, though, why anyone should be spying on him;
he can't be harming anybody but himself. I wonder if it's possible--"
But at this point a gust of wind, unusually severe, interrupted his
reflections, swinging him back and forth so dizzily that when it had
subsided he was glad enough to begin his descent from his airy
altitude. Once safely back upon the ground, he paused to think. His
first impulse was to return to his room and wait until morning before
informing Bellingham of what had occurred. But on second thought
various circumstances seemed to combine to render haste imperative.
For one thing, there was the manner in which the secretary had acted;
for another, there was the unmistakeable earnestness of his appeal;
and to lend color to his fears there was this singular nocturnal
observation of his labors. Surely, no ordinary servant would have had
the wish, the courage or the skill to make this dangerous ascent, and
in addition to this there was the added fact that this arboreal spy
was in the employ of Marshall Hamilton, one of the financial leaders
of New York. All in all, the matter assumed serious proportions. But
how, at this hour of the morning, was he to make his way to
Bellingham's room? Doors and windows were locked; no water pipe or
sturdy vine adorned the walls. "A bow and arrow," he thought to
himself, "might do the trick." And although such a weapon was not
available, the idea suggested another, and making his way back to the
stable, he unearthed, in the loft adjoining his room, an old discarded
tennis set, and abstracting three of the balls, returned to his room,
slit them with a knife, and hastily penned three notes, "Man has been
watching you from top of pine tree. If you leave, meet me at address
given to-morrow night, eight o'clock." Then, inserting one of these,
with a corner projecting, in each of his missiles, he once more
retraced his steps toward the house.
If possible, he would have preferred to make his attempt from the
ground, but the height of Bellingham's room made the angle so
difficult that he wisely decided there would be no use in attempting
this method of communication. "I might shoot away all night," he
reflected, "and never hit the window at all. I'll have to take another
climb." And accordingly, travelling with the added speed acquired by
familiarity with his surroundings, he soon regained the top of the
pine.
To his relief, the window was still open, and the secretary was still
pursuing his labors with undiminished ardor. "This," thought Atherton,
"is the time to 'groove' one," and taking one of the balls from his
pocket, he waited for a lull in the wind, and calculating, as well as
he could, the required elevation, he let fly with so good an aim that
the ball struck fairly on the window ledge, bounced over and
disappeared within the room.
Immediately Atherton saw the secretary start, look around him with an
expression of amazement, and then rise hastily from his seat. A few
moments later he reappeared at the window, gazing forth in the
direction of the pine tree with every evidence of terror and
consternation; then abruptly closed the window and lowered the shade.
For an instant Atherton could see him moving hurriedly about the room;
then the light was suddenly extinguished, Bellingham's apartment was
engulfed in the black bulk of the house; and Atherton, feeling that he
had done everything in his power, again descended and made his way to
his room, wondering greatly what would be the outcome of the night's
events.
CHAPTER XIII
The Great Secret
An unexpected trip in the motor had delayed Atherton's departure for
town, and it was after nine o'clock when he ran quickly up the stairs
which led to Blagden's room, confidently expecting to find Bellingham
there before him. The morning had dawned, revealing no trace of the
secretary, and Atherton had taken advantage of an errand in the
village to telephone Blagden to be on the lookout for the fugitive in
the neighborhood of eight o'clock. But now, to his disappointment, he
entered the room to find Blagden and Mills alone, Blagden lying on the
couch, eyes half closed, pipe in mouth, Mills sprawling in the easy
chair, extracting minor chords of unspeakable melancholy from
Blagden's guitar. Both were clearly bored, and glad of a chance to
vent their indignation upon Atherton.
"You're an idiot of a fellow," observed Blagden. "Where's this friend
of yours? We've been here since seven o'clock."
"Yes," added Mills. "Hurried our dinner, too. Worst thing in the world
for a man. We thought from your telephoning that it must be
important."
Atherton, weary from loss of sleep, dropped into a chair. "Well, I
imagine it is important," he rejoined. "He'll be here, I'm sure.
Unless--" he added thoughtfully, "something may have happened to him.
I shouldn't be greatly surprised if that was the trouble. But you
fellows needn't make such a row about it. It hasn't done you any harm.
We were supposed to meet to-night anyway."
Mills laid aside the guitar. "That's right," he assented, "this was to
be the experience meeting. And as you are the originator of the whole
thing, Blagden, you'd better begin. How did you get along with the
lovely lady? Was it a real adventure?"
Blagden puffed thoughtfully at his pipe. "Yes," he at length replied,
"It surely was. The lovely lady is interested in stocks and she has
a--what is the technical word in such cases--friend, isn't it?
Gentleman friend? Yes, that's it. She has a gentleman friend who gives
her tips on the market and--" he paused dramatically--"whose tips are
always right. She never loses, and _always_ wins."
Both of his hearers laughed. "You mentioned the 'Arabian Nights' that
evening in the café," scoffed Mills. And Atherton added, "That's just
like a woman. Why did she pick out the one impossible story in the
world? Anything else I'd have believed, out of compliment to her good
looks. But a friend who beats the stock market. Never. That's
incredible."
"Yes," Blagden admitted, "on general principles, I'd agree with you.
And yet I must say that her story was most convincing. I saw the house
where she lives; saw the tickers, large as life, installed by her
friend; saw her very dainty little account book, with its record of
six months' trading in cotton, grain and stocks, and with every
transaction showing its profit--a clean slate."
There followed silence. Then Atherton asked, still unbelievingly, "But
why does she confide in you? If she's got such a good thing--the tips,
I mean, not the gentleman friend--why isn't she satisfied? Why does
she tell _you_ her troubles?"
Mills laughed. "It's his personal charm," he volunteered. "He always
scores with the ladies. They'll tell him anything."
"Oh, shut up, Tubby," Blagden retorted, "this is a serious matter." And
then to Atherton, "The answer is as old as the time of Bluebeard, as
old as Eve and the serpent. Curiosity, that is the trouble with my
charming friend. It seems that she's not satisfied merely to make
money; it's the secret of making it she's after. And her benefactor
won't tell it to her. He lets her play with the market as a child
would play with a toy, and that's all."
"But how does she know," queried Mills, "that there is any secret? It
may be nothing but luck."
"Yes, that's possible," admitted Blagden, "but according to our
experience, it's very unlikely. No man's luck would hold in all three
markets for six months without a break. Besides, she's intelligent
enough, and she's convinced that he plays on a regular system. Her
theory is that there's some kind of inside manipulation by which
stocks are put up at certain hours of the day and put down at others;
frequently, she says, he consults his watch before making a trade.
Rather an ingenious idea."
"Humph," ejaculated Mills, "I should say it was. Sounds pretty
reasonable to me. First time I ever heard of it."
"Well," demurred Blagden, "it's barely possible, but I doubt it. In
fact, I don't take the whole story very seriously. And yet--it's
curious. But in any event, I fear I didn't help her much. If there is
a secret, it's not an easy one to solve."
He was silent. "Anything else?" asked Atherton, after a pause.
"No," Blagden answered, "that's the whole story. And now you fellows
can tell your troubles. How about you, Tubby? Any adventure?"
Mills chuckled at the remembrance. "Oh, rather," he replied. "I too
met a lady, only she wasn't quite in a class with yours. She was a
pretty little minx, though, at that, and after she had decoyed me to
her home with a most pathetic story, she and her running mate, a most
villainous looking individual named Stoat, tried to hold me up with
the old badger game."
"Good Lord!" cried Blagden, "That wasn't any joke, Tubby. It may be an
old game, but it's as dangerous as it ever was. Weren't you scared?"
"Sure was," admitted Mills. "Couldn't have been scareder, but Nature
having blessed me with a placid exterior, I managed to get by without
their knowing it. And finally we wound up by becoming great pals; I
never made such a hit in my life. In fact, good old Stoat, who appears
to be quite a noted criminal, offered me a partnership on the spot. As
near as I could make it out, he was drawn to me by my appearance of
respectability. It sounds conceited of me to repeat it, but he assured
me that with the proper training, I had all the qualifications for a
most successful criminal."
Atherton laughed. "Some compliment," he commented dryly, but Blagden
heard the news with perfect seriousness. "I believe he was right,
Tubby," he cried. "If he seemed to be a pretty smooth proposition, why
don't you go in with him? We might get hold of something big, and
without any risk to it, either."
"Oh, thanks," retorted Mills with unwonted asperity, "why don't you
try it yourself? I'll introduce you with pleasure. But none of the
Jesse James stuff for me, please. Jails and electric chairs never
appealed to me in the least."
Blagden grinned. "Oh, I haven't your peculiar beauty of face and
form," he rejoined. "I'm sure I wouldn't suit your friend. You're
missing a great chance, Tubby; you'd better reconsider."
"Not on your life," answered Mills with conviction, "but if you ever
require the services of a first-class robber, second-story man and I
dare say murderer, why he kindly gave me his name and address, and I
shall be delighted to bring two such congenial spirits together."
"All right; I'll remember it," said Blagden. Then, turning to
Atherton, he asked, "How about you? Anything doing?"
Atherton smiled. "Why," he responded apologetically, "after all this
spotlight melodrama of yours and Tubby's, I'm afraid my experience
will sound pretty tame. In fact, when you learn the truth, you may
expel me from the United Order of Gentlemen Adventurers. It's a
shameful confession, but I'm working for my living. I am--" he paused
a moment properly to emphasize the announcement--"a chauffeur."
Both his hearers shouted with laughter. "Oh, fine!" cried Blagden,
"that's the best yet. Go on. Give us the details. I'll bet it's a lady
you're working for. Some rich old spinster, I hope. She might adopt
you."
"No," Atherton answered, "no lady in this at all. But I'm working for
a man you may have heard of. His name is Marshall Hamilton."
His hearers suddenly sobered. "The deuce!" cried Mills, and Blagden
added, "Well, there's a chance to get some real tips on the market.
Perhaps you have some already."
"No, no such luck," responded Atherton, "but I have come across
something curious connected with the stock market. Mr. Hamilton has a
secretary named Bellingham, a very decent chap indeed--he's the one I
telephoned you about this morning. Now Bellingham, it appears, is a
chart fiend, or something of that sort; he has the tape sent to him
and works at it nights, puzzling out some sort of a system of his own.
But the singular thing is that he's been mortally afraid of being
detected; we got chummy the first night I met him, and he told me all
his fears, and asked me for some safe address where he might go if he
had to leave on the jump. And last night the very thing happened that
he'd been dreading; some one was spying on him; I got wind of it and
let him know, and advised him to come here to-night. So with the
dawning of the morning, friend Bellingham had disappeared, and that is
why I expect him here."
There was a moment's silence. Then Blagden cried, triumphantly,
"Didn't I tell you fellows the truth? Didn't I say that we were
stagnating over the tickers when there was plenty of adventure left in
the world if we only had enterprise enough to go out and look for it?
And just see what we've discovered in the first few days."
"Yes, that's true," agreed Atherton. "We'll give you credit for that.
But don't forget that there's something else you haven't proved to us.
You claimed that somehow or other we were going to be able to combine
our experiences to our mutual advantage, and I can't quite see how
we're going to do it. You have made the acquaintance of a lady who
knows how to beat the stock market; Mills knows an expert criminal;
and I am driving a car. But how is all this going to make us rich?
Explain that to us, Blagden."
"Oh, well," Blagden retorted, "what do you expect? That fortunes are
made over night? Of course not. Give us a chance. We'll accumulate
more knowledge as we go along, and presently we'll strike a winning
combination. Just consider what's happened to us already. Why, if we
can keep up this gait, we'll need a card catalogue to keep track of
our adventures. You're unreasonable, Atherton; we've made a start, and
that's the principal thing."
As he finished speaking, the bell, as if to punctuate his words, rang
sharply. Atherton leaped to his feet. "Bellingham," he cried, and
strode hastily to the tube. "Who is it?" he asked, and as he had
expected, the answer came back in low but hurried tones. "It's I;
Bellingham. Let me in, Atherton, quick!"
Atherton pressed the button, threw open the door, and an instant later
there came the sound of rapid footsteps on the stairs, and Bellingham
came into the room, pausing on the threshold to close and lock the
door behind him, as though fearing pursuit. The secretary's appearance
had changed greatly for the worse. His face was pale; dark circles
ringed his eyes, and acknowledging Atherton's introductions to the
others with a nod, he sank heavily into a chair with the air of a man
thoroughly exhausted and spent. Blagden eyed him keenly for a moment,
then rose, walked over to the sideboard, poured some brandy into a
glass, and handed it to him. Bellingham drained the glass, and almost
immediately the red began to creep back into his cheeks. "Thanks," he
said, "that's better," and turning to Atherton he added, "I've had an
awful day. I've been shadowed; I'm sure of it. But I managed to give
them the slip about an hour ago. I wanted to see you before I leave."
Atherton did not know how to interpret his words. "Before you leave?"
he echoed. "Have you made up your mind to that?"
"Yes," Bellingham answered, "it's the only thing I can do. I've taken
a risk. I've played for big stakes--and lost. If I stay here, I won't
live another twenty-four hours. I've booked passage for South America;
the steamer sails at seven o'clock to-morrow morning; and I shan't
feel easy until I've gone aboard to-night and locked my stateroom door
behind me. Then I believe I have a chance. But if I do get away
safely, I owe my life to you, and I wanted to see you and tell you
so."
"But you shouldn't have risked it," cried Atherton. "It wasn't worth
while. I don't deserve any thanks, anyway; I acted on the impulse of
the moment; that was all."
Bellingham gazed at him abstractedly, as if scarcely heeding his
words. "Time is short," he said, "and I've a good deal to say. We've
got to think quick." Then, with a glance at Mills and Blagden, he
added, "I understand that you three fellows have pooled your fortunes.
What I say to one, I can say to all."
"That's correct," Atherton assented, and the secretary continued,
"Then here's the story. By the merest accident, I've stumbled on a big
secret, the biggest secret in the world. Financially speaking, you
can't overestimate its importance. If a man can solve it, he can make
all the money he wants--nothing can stop him. But if it becomes known
that he has solved it, or if he is detected in the attempt, he might
as well have written his own death warrant. I want to do the right
thing by you fellows; if you care to have me do it, I'll tell you what
I know. Or if, on the other hand, you don't feel like tempting fate,
well and good; I dare say I'll only be doing you a bad turn by telling
you. Take your choice; I leave it to you to decide."
Blagden, whose eyes had never left the secretary's face, was the first
to speak. "We'll take a chance," he answered coolly. "Isn't that
right, boys?"
"Sure thing," assented Mills, but Atherton did not immediately
respond. Three days ago, he would not have hesitated, but his meeting
with Helen Hamilton had made all matters connected with money assume a
secondary place, and life itself, with so much to live for, now seemed
a possession too precious to be risked. Yet it was difficult to take
Bellingham's words seriously; he must be exaggerating. And finally
curiosity turned the scale, and he answered briefly, "All right; go
ahead."
Bellingham leaned forward in his chair, his eyes bright, the liquor
loosening his tongue. "Then here is the story," he cried. "For years,
every one has claimed that the stock market is an unbeatable game. Man
after man tries it; goes into it sanguine, confident; and emerges
broken in purse and spirit. Isn't that so?"
There was a murmur of assent. "And why it is so," went on Bellingham,
"is a mystery. You can't say that all men are fools. They're not.
Men play the stock market who have succeeded brilliantly in other
lines--men who have never made a failure in their lives--but the stock
market beats them as it beats any novice. I think you'll bear me out
in that."
Again his hearers signified assent, and Bellingham, lowering his
voice, continued, "Then what is the answer? All my life I've lived in
the atmosphere of the Exchange; all my life I've heard the legends and
the rumors that surround it; but never, until three days ago, have I
even suspected the truth. There's no need for me to tell you how I
came by this knowledge; it's enough for me to say that a paper,
accidentally discovered, has so filled the gaps in what I knew before
that now I can make something more than a guess at the real mystery of
the Stock Exchange. And this is what I know. Forty years ago, four
men--the wealthiest, ablest and shrewdest men of their day--met
together and founded the most wonderful secret order in the world.
This was their plan--to form and perfect an organization so powerful
that by means of it they could govern the course of the stock
market--could actually raise or lower prices as they chose."
Blagden, who had been listening with constantly increasing attention,
now broke in, more to himself than to the others, "Just what I said.
Combination; cooperation; it's the only way."
Bellingham turned to him. "Exactly!" he cried. "And what was the first
requisite for their plan? Money, of course; money unlimited; not money
as we understand it, in hundreds and thousands, but money in millions,
in tens of millions, in billions. And that is what these four men,
with their resources and connections, were able to achieve. They
labored until they had ready at their command what was practically an
inexhaustible reservoir of gold. That was the first step. The next was
to perfect the army of men who were to carry on this financial war. At
its head were seven commanders-in-chief, the four I have mentioned,
and besides them one in England and two on the Continent. These were
the true insiders, the sole possessors of the secret, sworn by the
most solemn of oaths to guard it from all the world excepting
themselves and their successors in office. They were the leaders, but
under them were colonels and captains and privates in the ranks, each
man of proved ability, and each with his special duty to perform. And
thus, fully equipped with men and munitions, they were ready to take
the field."
Mills had been gazing at him, wide-eyed, absorbed in the secretary's
story. Now he could contain himself no longer. "I don't care much," he
cried, "for your comparison. You keep talking about a war. I should
call it a slaughter. With most of the money in the world behind you,
how can you help but lick the other fellow. War! Do you talk about a
war between a boa-constrictor and a rabbit?"
"You're right," assented the secretary. "Quite right. And I'll drop
figures of speech altogether. When these men had everything in
readiness, then began the cold-blooded, systematic despoiling of the
people. For one thing, they had--and have--the finest publicity
department in the world. The heads of it know all the weaknesses of
human nature, know every detail of the psychology of the so-called
average man. They know how to arouse his interest in the market, how
to whet his appetite for speculation, how to get him to invest his
money, and most important of all, once he has taken sides as a bear or
a bull, they know how to publish the forecasts and the information
that will make him stick to his position until they have extracted the
last cent of the last dollar that he can afford to lose. That is what
the publicity department can do, and aiding and abetting them at all
times are the sleek and smiling brokers--financial courtezans--genial,
jovial men, bidding you welcome to the warmth and light and luxury of
their offices; joking with you, advising you, humoring your wild ideas
and your crazy theories of speculation, gathering their commissions as
their pay and knowing, in the bottom of what they call their hearts,
that once you are in their clutches, you won't escape while you have a
penny to your name. That is your average broker--a licensed thief, a
man of ill-fame, a speculative prostitute."
There followed momentary silence. Then Atherton remarked, "I don't
doubt the truth of what you say. But admitting that it's so, still you
haven't shown us why a man can't sometimes win."
"But I have!" cried Bellingham, "or if I haven't, it's because I
haven't made myself clear. Don't you understand? It's nothing more nor
less than highway robbery. The insiders play against the public; the
insiders with their eyes open, the public blindfolded. Or, to vary the
figure, the insiders hold their cards in their hands, while the public
lay theirs face up on the table. There's only one result. It's open
and shut--cut and dried. Why, at any moment of the day these men have
access to the books of any bank or any broker's office in America;
they can tell, at a second's notice, just what proportion of the
public is long of stocks and just what proportion is short. They know
the name and trade and record of every speculator in the market; they
know his resources, his commitments; and if they wish to 'get' a man,
it is just like some millionaire strolling down with a net to his
private fishpond, and picking out some particularly plump fish for his
dinner. As a matter of fact, mighty few individuals are successful
enough so that it is worth while to go after them, but if the insiders
decide to do it, why--snap--and it's all over; not even a ripple comes
to the surface. And if it's a pool they decide to swallow--some
combination of foolish millionaires who have grown suddenly
rich--then it becomes a very pretty game, like shooting or fishing
or bull-fighting or any other so-called sport where the odds are all
one way. It takes a little longer--the death struggle is more drawn
out--sometimes a bubble or two does come to the surface--but the
result is always the same. You must see it now; I'm sure you do. It is
the absolute quintessence of simplicity."
Atherton sat silent for a moment; then, as the true significance of
the secretary's story dawned upon him, he murmured to himself, slowly
and with infinite meaning, "Well, by _Heck!_"
Bellingham glanced at his watch; then drew from his pocket a packet of
papers and a sealed envelope, and handed them to Atherton. "I can't
stay much longer," he said, "but here is the proof of my story; the
papers are the results of my experiments; the envelope contains the
holy of holies, the key to the whole mystery. I can give you the gist
of the matter now. The greatest achievement in their whole wonderful
system is their method of communicating their plans. You can see how
necessary it must be; they are dealing with a hysterical public, who
in time of panic follow each other like sheep. Therefore, when some
unexpected event occurs--the Northern Pacific corner, war, disaster of
any kind--if these men cannot consult together almost instantly, they
may face ruin, even for individuals as powerful as themselves. How
then will they communicate? By cable? Telegraph? Telephone? Too
cumbersome. Too many people to handle the messages. Simpler far a
code, a cipher, so that what appears to be an ordinary transaction
recorded on the tape becomes in reality a piece of information that
shapes the destiny of the market, and of the thousands who vainly seek
to fathom the secret of its ups and downs. To issue these is the
special duty of one man. I know that all this is true, and I fear that
they suspect that I possess this knowledge. In any event, the game is
too big for me; I would rather be a live dog than a dead lion."
He paused for a moment, but though the three faces bent on his were
tense and rigid with excitement, no one spoke, and presently he
continued, "But besides being their greatest strength, you can see how
this wonderful system might be their greatest weakness as well. And
when I say this, I refer to the possibility of the system's being
discovered. Now the originators of this plan were men of intelligence
and ability; they must have seen this danger, and the necessity of
safeguarding their secret in every possible way. And they did so. But
Fate is stronger than man, and through a trick of Fate they have been
found out."
As he finished speaking, he rose from his seat. "I dare not stay
longer," he said, "and for the sake of all three of you, I prefer not
to go from this house directly into the street. Isn't there some way,
Blagden, by which I could go along the roofs and down by some other
exit?"
"Yes," Blagden agreed, "we can do that." And with a handshake the
secretary took his leave of Mills and Atherton, and followed Blagden
up the ladder, along the chimney tops, until an open skylight at the
end of the block furnished them their opportunity, and at the foot of
the stairs Bellingham, after carefully reconnoitering, made ready to
depart.
"If it's necessary to see you again," whispered Blagden, "what is your
boat, and when does she sail?"
"The _Pernambuco_," Bellingham answered. "She leaves at seven o'clock
to-morrow morning. Good-by and good luck." And the next instant he had
slipped out into the street, and had disappeared from sight.
CHAPTER XIV
A Triple Discovery
Blagden returned as he had come, quickly remounting the stairs of the
lodging house, ascending the ladder and crossing the roofs, and at
length, with a feeling of relief, clambered down into his own
dwelling, and re-entered his apartment, to find Mills and Atherton
seated at the table, busily examining the documents which Bellingham
had left behind him.
"Now then," said Blagden brusquely, "leave those papers alone a
minute; there's time enough for them later. But here's the question to
settle first. We've been listening to the damndest yarn I ever heard
in my life. And what I want to know is this. Do you fellows believe
it, or don't you?"
"I don't," Mills answered readily. "Not for a minute. Bellingham
appeared to be a very decent chap, but I don't consider him sane. I
think he's gone crazy over this thing. It's too tough a story to
swallow."
Blagden smiled. "Tubby," he rejoined, "you were born a doubter. You
may suffer from other faults, but your imagination will never be your
ruin; I'm sure of that. What do you say, Atherton? Do you believe it?"
"Yes, I do," Atherton promptly rejoined. "You see, Tubby," he added,
turning to Mills, "I've had the advantage of knowing Bellingham before
he knew he was being watched, and he was as sane a man then as you
would wish to see. Of course he's a nervous wreck now, but who
wouldn't be? He must feel like a hare with the hounds after him. I
hope he gets away all right."
"Oh, nonsense!" cried Mills unbelievingly, "he'll get away. I don't
believe he's being followed at all."
"Well, I do," Atherton retorted. "You can bet that fellow who was
after him was no ordinary detective, and if he had the enterprise to
be climbing pine trees at two o'clock in the morning, to get the goods
on Bellingham, I don't believe he's going to let him escape if he can
help it. What's your opinion?" he asked of Blagden, who stood by the
mantel piece, smoking furiously, his brow contracted as he pondered
over the amazing story to which they had just been listening.
Blagden laid aside his pipe and began pacing up and down the room.
"Frankly, Atherton," he confessed, "I'm puzzled. I'm half inclined to
believe the whole thing is true; it would explain practically
everything about the market which has perplexed us for so long. And
yet it's such a romantic, impossible sort of a tale that I can't
convince myself it's so; at least, not without further proof. But I'm
sure of one thing; we ought to investigate with all the care in the
world; it may be the opportunity of a lifetime. Can you make anything
out of his figures?" And he motioned toward the papers on the table.
"Not a great deal," Atherton answered. "I should say he was still in
the experimental stage; he's guessing at different theories, and then
seeing how they fit the facts. But of course, unless you've got the
whole code at your fingers' ends, you couldn't expect to follow the
ups and downs of the tape intelligently. He has made a beginning; it
remains for us to try to complete it."
"And what was the other paper he spoke of?" asked Blagden. "What did
he call it? 'The holy of holies'?"
Atherton started to draw it from his pocket; then, with an apologetic
half laugh, thrust it back again, walked to the door, and cautiously
reconnoitered. But no one was in sight, and accordingly he rejoined
his friends, again pulling the envelope from its resting place, while
Mills and Blagden peered eagerly over his shoulder. The first envelope
contained a second one; the second a third. "April fool," muttered
Mills. "I told you he was crazy," but was suddenly silent as Atherton
drew from the third envelope the paper, faded and yellow with age,
which Bellingham had found in the vault, and with it a typewritten
copy, explaining its contents as far as the secretary had been able to
decipher them. No faintest sound disturbed the stillness of the room
as they read, and as they finished, they remained motionless, staring
at each other, with all trace of levity or disbelief gone suddenly
from their faces. Then Mills, like a man awakening from a trance,
slowly passed his hand across his forehead. "He couldn't have faked
that paper," he murmured. "That's the real thing."
But the others scarcely heard him. "Then it _is_ true," said Atherton
at length. "Everything we've heard and guessed at, but never honestly
believed. There is a 'Money Trust,' there _is_ a 'System.' Good Lord,
it's like a dream!"
"A nightmare," responded Blagden grimly. "No wonder we couldn't win.
And now let's take our time, and go over it again. I should say that
'holy of holies' was right; I believe this scrap of paper is just
about the most important document in the world."
Side by side, they seated themselves at the table, and word by word
began their study of the cryptic talisman. Half way through Atherton
called a halt. "So far, so good," he observed. "As Bellingham told us,
it's the very height of simplicity. They feed the public with good
news, bait them with bull tips, and then when a sufficient number have
loaded up at the top, they break the market and incidentally break
the fools who have been caught. Then begins the campaign of bad
news--famine, pestilence and sudden death--then arrive the bear tips,
and when all the longs have been driven out and a new crop of suckers
have gone short at the bottom, then comes the accumulation by the
Money Gods and up goes the market for them to sell on to the next crop
of idiots who will never buy except at the very top, after stocks have
advanced from ten to twenty points. But all that doesn't help us much,
unless we can tell what is the bottom and what is the top. What we
want to know is about these signals. Signals on the tape. What a
wonderful scheme! When Bellingham found this paper, he must have felt
as if he had happened upon a ton of dynamite."
"Dynamite," said Blagden, "is a very happy word. If we could prove the
authenticity of this paper, we could just about blow this old country
sky-high. We could close every stock exchange in America, and drive
the Money Gods into exile for their health. Oh, 'dynamite' is too mild
a word; this would be a higher explosive than that."
As he finished speaking, Atherton was conscious of a sudden chill of
dismay. Rightly or wrongly, he had no desire to see harm befall Helen
Hamilton's father, and was correspondingly relieved to hear Mills
exclaim, "Yes, but we don't want to do anything like that. The only
time to be reformers is when we've made all the money we can use. We
want ours, Blagden, so for Heaven's sake don't think of blowing this
thing until we've had a chance at it."
Blagden smiled at the stout man's earnestness. "Oh, don't worry," he
reassured him. "I was only emphasizing the importance of the paper.
You are quite right, Tubby; let the Money Gods live and wax fat. All
we want is a few of the crumbs that fall from the master's table."
"Sure thing," Atherton assented with relief, "we're all agreed about
that. And now let's examine the rest of the paper. The signals
themselves; that's what interests us."
Once more they bent to their task. "On the watch," read Mills, "for
these signals. Now what is the sense in that? Of course they would be
on the watch for them. They would be fools not to."
But suddenly Blagden gave a cry of amazement, and his companions,
gazing at him, saw his face go white, and then flush with crimson. He
sprang to his feet. "I've got it," he exclaimed, half incoherent with
excitement. "Don't you see? _On the watch!_ It doesn't mean _be_ on
the watch; it means the watch itself. It's the missing words that
spoil the sense. It isn't a verb; it's a noun. _A_ watch. The watch a
man carries in his pocket. That's where the key to the cipher is, and
there couldn't be a better place. No one would suspect it, and it's
always at hand. That's what the girl told me; don't you remember?
Always looking at his watch, when she spied upon him by the tickers.
She is right. Her friend is one of these men. Just think of it. No
wonder she always won. And see what it means for us. Monte Cristo
wasn't in it. We've got a fortune in our grasp."
He paused, his eyes gleaming, his whole face tense with excitement.
Then, going over to the sideboard, he poured for himself an even
stiffer drink than he had prepared for Bellingham, and hastily gulped
it down. "I needed that," he said. "Some excitement to-night. This is
probably the wildest day of our bright young lives."
Atherton had remained seated, still intent upon the paper before him.
"Steady, Blagden," he objected. "You're jumping at conclusions. This
may be all coincidence. But your theory is ingenious. And if you
_should_ be right--"
He did not finish his sentence, letting his imagination dwell upon the
possibilities of the future.
"If I _should_ be right," echoed Blagden reproachfully. "Why Good
Lord, man, of course I'm right. If Tubby had doubted me, I could have
forgiven him, but you ought to have the vision to piece the thing
together. Oh, God--" he flared forth again, "what a bully old world it
is. Checkered, but never dull. Here we were, two days ago, busted like
a flat tire, and now the lamp of Aladdin awaits our touch. And all--"
he added suddenly, "because we coöperated. I'd forgotten that in the
excitement. I guess I'm the original little coöperator, all right.
Just think what's coming to us, boys. Steam yachts, motors, women--"
He smacked his lips, but Mills, the practical, now questioned, "Yes,
but what about getting the watch of this eminent but erring financier?
Are you going up to him to ask the time of day, and then will you grab
it and run? What's he going to be doing? Naturally he's no spring
chicken."
"Oh," Blagden answered with confidence, "that's merely matter of
detail. Once we know who the man is, we'll get the watch. Just look at
our advantage. We know what he's got, and he doesn't know that we
know. That gives us the whip hand, right away. As a matter of fact, I
dare say the lady could help us."
Mills brightened. "That's a good idea," he agreed. "Something like the
panel game. I believe that would work."
"But there's one thing," suggested Atherton, "that we ought not to
neglect. If Bellingham intends to leave the country, never to return,
we ought to be sure that we have everything he knows. Let's go over
these papers of his now, and make a list of anything we don't
understand. We could see him in the morning and have a last word with
him before he sails."
"You're right," Blagden cried, "but wait a minute first. There's
something else I want to see about."
He disappeared into his bedroom, from whence they presently heard the
tinkle of his telephone. Shortly he returned. "Now then," he said
briskly, "luck is still with us. I rang up the girl, pretending that I
wanted to see her to-morrow evening, and she told me that she was
engaged and that I must be sure and not come to her house. That, of
course, means only one thing. You, Atherton, meet me at Hillcrest
Station to-morrow night at eight, and we'll do a little detective
work. And you, Tubby, get up at five thirty to-morrow morning and go
over to the _Pernambuco_ with a list of questions that we'll make out
now. While everything is going our way, we'll lose no time."
For an hour or more they worked, and finally disbanded, Mills going to
his room to set his alarm clock and then, his brain on fire with
excitement, to toss restlessly about for the balance of the night,
with a hundred wild dreams and visions disturbing his rest. With the
first whirr of the alarm he was out of bed, and disposing of a cup of
coffee and a roll, he sallied forth to obtain the final information
from Bellingham. The good weather of the day before had vanished; the
morning was thick and foggy, and as he neared the wharves Mills found
himself inclined to shiver, half with the chill of the wind, half from
the over-excitement of the preceding night. He found the vessel
without trouble, a big, old-fashioned, somewhat dingy craft, and with
an inquiry or two made his way readily enough to Bellingham's cabin.
His knock, however, brought no answer, and after a moment's hesitation
he tried the door, found it unfastened, and walked in. The secretary's
bag lay open on the table, its contents tossed about in confusion, and
the secretary himself lay in his bunk, sound asleep. "Tired out,"
thought Mills, and crossing the cabin, he extended his hand to awaken
Bellingham, and in doing so inadvertently brushed with his fingers the
cheek of the slumbering man. The flesh, to his touch, was cold as
marble, and on the instant sudden dread gripped him by the throat as
he nerved himself for the ordeal and slowly withdrew the bedclothes
from Bellingham's face.
There followed a ghastly moment, and he found himself staggering back
across the cabin, faint and sick with horror, and with blotches of
crimson flashing and wheeling before his eyes. Then, by a mighty
effort recovering his control, he made his way, like a man in a dream,
on deck, back to the gang-plank, and thus to the shore, thanking
Heaven for the pall of fog which still enshrouded land and sea. Like a
criminal, he crept back to his lodgings, and like some hunted
fugitive, he kept all day to his rooms, a great dread in his heart as
he pondered on the craft and power of these unseen foes against whom
he and his friends had dared to wage unequal war.
And thus the long day passed, dark and lowering, with occasional
spurts of rain. But toward sunset the wind veered to the west,
scattering the clouds across the sky, with gleams of sunshine
filtering through the rifts, and by the time Atherton and Blagden met
at the station, clear stars were shining overhead and a crescent moon
gave promise of fair weather to come.
"Did you have any trouble getting away?" asked Blagden, as they
tramped up the narrow and deserted road.
"No," Atherton answered, "things have been quiet all day, and to-night
Mr. Hamilton was called to the city on business, and fortunately for
me he decided to go by train, so there was nothing to detain me. But I
don't mind telling you, Blagden," he added, "that I'm not a bit keen
about this whole business. Eavesdropping isn't a pleasant task, at
best, and if by any chance we should be caught, it would be a
humiliating experience."
"No fear," Blagden answered. "There's a hedge around the house thick
enough to hide a regiment. We'll creep into it, one each side of the
path which leads to the house, and there's an electric light across
the street that ought to make it easy enough to get a look at our man.
Tracing him afterward may be a more difficult matter, but I don't
think so. Naturally, he won't be suspicious, and that is a point in
our favor. Here we are, now, right ahead. Just before we reach the
drive, you duck into the hedge, and I'll walk by and then do the same
on the other side. Between us, we'll get a glance at him, and follow
him if we can."
Five minutes later, Atherton was comfortably ensconced in his hiding
place, and had settled down to what proved to be a tiresome vigil. Ten
o'clock came and went, half past ten, and then, at last, the sound of
an opening door, a glimpse of a man and woman in the dimly lighted
hall, a farewell embrace, the door closed and a man's figure came
leisurely down the path.
Atherton, with beating heart, strained his eyes upon the spot where
the man must pass. Now the footsteps came nearer, and nearer still;
now the man's figure was plainly visible in the radiance of the light;
and all at once Atherton was hardly able to repress a gasp of
amazement and consternation. For the face of the man was one that he
knew well. It was the face of Marshall Hamilton.
CHAPTER XV
Thrust and Parry
The atmosphere of Blagden's room was tense with uncertainty. A storm
seemed imminent; danger signals filled the air. Blagden himself, the
embodiment of nervous energy, paced continually to and fro; Atherton
sat at the table, mechanically tracing aimless figures on the pad
before him; while Mills, the taciturn and phlegmatic, instead of
reclining, as usual, in the easy chair, sat bolt upright, balanced on
its edge, his expression eloquent of anxiety.
The temporary silence was broken explosively. "Damnation, Atherton,"
cried Blagden, "can't you see that such a thing would never happen
again in a million years. As a rule, I'm not religious, but I tell you
this has made me believe that we're chosen as the instruments of
Providence. I believe there's a 'system' in Heaven as well as on
earth, and I believe that God Almighty has picked us out to break the
power of the Money Gods for the rest of time."
Atherton smiled, a little wearily. "When Fate is on your side," he
answered, "and you can see millions ahead of you, then it's an easy
matter to believe in God."
"But who wouldn't," Blagden insisted. "Less than a week ago three
penniless adventurers meet in a café, and go blindly forth to seek
adventure. Each of them follows a separate strand of incident, which
is apparently quite independent of the other two, until suddenly, like
magic, the three strands meet and unite in one. Why, we have the whole
story now. Even with what Bellingham told us, we knew almost enough,
and what we saw last night gives us the key to the whole affair.
Here's our man, our big market operator, carrying upon his person the
ultimate cipher of the code. All we have to do is by hook or crook to
gain possession of his watch, and we'll have the chance that will
never come to three men again as long as the world lasts. So don't
stand in the way, Atherton; be a sport."
"It's a simple matter," Atherton replied, "to say, 'get possession of
his watch,' but haven't you read stories of treasure chests guarded by
some secret contrivance which meant death to those who tried to open
them? That's the kind of thing we're up against. Bellingham tried to
solve the mystery, and Bellingham is dead. And do you suppose for one
instant that if his story is true--if these men have the power he says
they have--that we are going to meddle with their secrets and escape
unscathed? If you do think so, you were never more mistaken in your
life. Why, rather than go ahead as you want us to do, I would take my
chance on walking into a powder factory, with a lighted pipe in my
mouth and the wind blowing a gale."
Mills nodded solemnly. Life to him was something precious; many
delights lay before him through the placid years. "You're right,
Atherton," he agreed. "It's tremendously tempting, but this putting
your head into the lion's jaws is a dangerous game; if he happens to
close them, why--good-by."
Blagden, the dynamic, exploded again. "Oh, you quitters!" he
vociferated, "why do you stand in such awe of this gang. I tell you
they're only human. The bigger they are, the harder they fall. Under
ordinary circumstances, I'll admit that we'd have no show. But see
what Fate has done for us. Here is Atherton, in the employ of Marshall
Hamilton. Here's Mills, pals with the celebrated Stoat, who claims to
be the best little housebreaker in New York. What could be easier than
for Atherton to leave a window open, so that Stoat could slip into the
house, make his way into Hamilton's bedroom, and get possession of the
watch? Easy? Why, it would be child's play."
"But that," objected Mills, "would be only the beginning. Even
assuming that we got the watch, as soon as it was missed there would
be the devil to pay. Every speculator in the country would be a marked
man. We might have the knowledge but would we dare to use it?"
"Tubby," retorted Blagden savagely, "you make me tired. I've
considered all the possibilities, and I've decided that there's just
one way for us to succeed. Stoat must get the watch, copy the cypher,
and then return it again before it's missed. In that way we'll be
doing no harm to anyone, and we'll be absolutely safe. Nobody can have
the slightest ground for suspicion."
"Oh, that's different," Mills assented. "If we could do that, we'd be
all right." But Atherton promptly demurred. "Blagden," he said firmly,
"you've got to realize that my position in this whole affair has
changed. I'm working for Mr. Hamilton; he has treated me well; and I
can't help you out on any such plan as this. It wouldn't be the decent
thing."
"Oh, decent be damned," rejoined Blagden with heat. "You went in with
us on this adventure scheme; we agreed to stick together; and now that
our chance has really come, you refuse to take advantage of it. I
don't consider, Atherton, that you're playing square with us."
Atherton's eyes gleamed. "Oh, come," he remonstrated, "I'd go slow
with that kind of talk. We went into this together, as you say, but
that doesn't mean that we're bound to stick through thick and thin,
regardless of whatever circumstances may arise. What do you say,
Tubby? Isn't that stretching things beyond all reason?"
"Oh, of course," Mills agreed, "there's a limit somewhere. But I can't
see why you should worry about Marshall Hamilton. Apparently, he's
nothing but a plain, ordinary robber; the only difference between him
and other criminals is that he operates on a larger scale. I don't see
where he comes in at all. And as Blagden says, it isn't as though we
were harming him. Suppose we get what we're after. All we want is to
be let alone until we've made our fortunes; then we can decide whether
we dare expose the crowd or not. But for the present, no harm is
coming to Hamilton."
"How do you know it isn't?" Atherton insisted. "You're assuming that
everything is to result as you plan it. But you can't tell. Even for
Stoat, admitting that he's as skillful as we think he is, this is
going to be a delicate job. Suppose he makes his way successfully as
far as Hamilton's bedroom, and then suppose that Hamilton awakens,
that there's a fight, and that Hamilton is killed. What are we then?
Murderers, aren't we? Not legally, perhaps, but morally."
"Oh, rot!" cried Blagden contemptuously, "that's not a fair way to
argue. Supposing--supposing--why, if you once begin, you can suppose
anything you please. We've got to figure on probabilities, not
possibilities. And tell me this, Atherton. I don't admit for an
instant that you are right, but assuming that you are--assuming the
very worst that can happen--why are you so solicitous about Marshall
Hamilton? What's his life to you? He is protected by respectability,
and that's all. Apart from that, he's a robber, a common plunderer;
he's got your money and Tubby's money and mine. He takes the risks of
his profession; he can't complain. So I ask you again, why the devil
are you so afraid of his being harmed?"
Atherton hesitated. Naturally honest and straightforward, he knew
perfectly well in his own mind what his real reasons were--that it was
not so much consideration for his employer that influenced him as the
fear that something might happen to distress Helen herself. Yet he was
loth to admit this, until all at once the keen-witted Blagden,
noticing his confusion, suddenly leaped to the correct conclusion.
"I have it!" he cried. "It's not Marshall Hamilton at all; he has
nothing to do with it. It's his daughter." And as Atherton's
expression confirmed his conjecture, he added savagely, "Look here,
man, what a hypocrite you are. Here you pose as a moralist, and all
the time you're laying your plans to marry Hamilton's daughter, become
independent for life, and then leave Tubby and me in the lurch. That's
a pretty trick."
He was thoroughly angered, and like most angry men, had gone too far.
Atherton leaped to his feet. "Stop it," he cried, with ominous calm.
"Stop it right away. What you're saying is nonsense, every word of
it."
"Every word of it," repeated Blagden. "Do you deny that you would like
to marry Miss Hamilton?"
Atherton did not hesitate now. "There is no question of marrying
anybody," he answered. "I'm not in a position, financially, to think
of marriage. If you ask me whether I'm in love with Miss Hamilton,
I'll tell you that I most certainly am. But when you talk about
marrying and becoming independent, and when you talk about my going
back on you and Tubby, then you're simply ranting about what isn't
true."
There was a pause, the two eyeing each other like wrestlers about to
come to a grapple, while Mills, the lover of harmony, gazed miserably
from one to the other, in distress at this sudden disagreement.
"Well," said Blagden at length, "I don't see that your reasons make
any difference, anyway; I made a mistake when I brought them into the
discussion. But the practical result is that you decline to help us
with this scheme. Isn't that the long and short of it?"
"Yes," Atherton admitted, "it is. It's too risky, and it's criminal,
and altogether it's a poor game to mix up in. I'm sure we'll do better
to let it alone."
"And in the next place," went on Blagden, "to make use of Biblical
language, which you, as a moralist, will undoubtedly approve, if you
are not with us, are you against us? Will you remain neutral, and let
Tubby and myself go ahead with this plan ourselves?"
Atherton shook his head. "No," he replied, "if this were simply a case
of robbery, I suppose, under all the circumstances, I shouldn't object
to it, but the trouble is that you can't tell where you are going to
stop. Therefore, I'm opposed to any such attempt as you propose."
"Very well," said Blagden, "now we know where we stand. Only please
don't think you have a monopoly of all the brains in this crowd,
because you haven't. And now I'm going to ask you another question.
Has it occurred to your pure and youthful mind that the events of last
night may have some bearing oh the situation?"
Atherton started. Such a possibility had not occurred to him. "What do
you mean by that?" he demanded in his turn.
"Just this," retorted Blagden. "That if worse comes to worse, I mean
to take a parting shot at our friend Hamilton by letting his wife know
of this little affair of his. His wife--and his daughter."
Atherton's heart sank. "But listen, Blagden," he cried, "you wouldn't
do that. Why, that would be rotten, sneaking blackmail. No gentleman
could stoop to that."
Blagden grinned. "Then I'm not a gentleman," he scoffed. "How
interesting these distinctions are. Your prospective father-in-law is
a robber and is unfaithful to his wife, and yet he is a gentleman.
It's quite an elastic term. But I'm not proud. I'll forfeit my title
to being one. But gentleman or not, if you say that you are going to
interfere with my plans, I'll make things hum in the Hamilton family."
"But Mrs. Hamilton," objected Atherton, "is an invalid. News like that
might easily kill her. You have no right to make her suffer."
"Oh, that's not my lookout," disclaimed Blagden airily. "Blame her
husband, or Fate, or anyone else, but not me. So on the whole,
Atherton, don't you think you'd better withdraw your opposition, and
let us go ahead?"
Atherton, realizing the difficulty of his position, made no answer. To
allow wife and daughter to know of Marshall Hamilton's double life was
unthinkable; better far, it seemed, to risk the danger of the attempt
to rob the banker of his watch. But while he pondered, suddenly, to
his amazement, Blagden's whole manner underwent a complete change, and
he burst into laughter.
"Heavens, man, but you take things seriously!" he cried. "I didn't
mean what I said. I was only seeing how far I could push the argument.
You're quite right; we couldn't take the risk. We'll give up the whole
affair, and wait for a better chance."
Atherton stared at him, relieved and yet incredulous. Nor did Mills
appear to know whether to believe this sudden change of front was
simulated or sincere.
"Good Lord!" he exclaimed, "do you mean you're going to stop now?
After all we've been through? That doesn't sound like you, Blagden;
you never were a quitter."
Blagden threw him a glance of veiled meaning. "Oh, I don't mind
quitting when I have to," he answered. "Atherton's right, and that
settles it." He strolled across the room as he spoke, and in his most
winning manner laid his hand on Atherton's shoulder. "But you must own
up, old man," he said, "that you owe a good deal to me. You seem to be
on the crest of the wave now, but don't forget who launched you from
the shore. When you're happily married and settled down, I shall come
around to the back door and expect a cold meal if I need one."
At once Atherton melted. "I realize everything," he responded, "and if
it hadn't been for your energy, I don't know what I should be doing
now. I don't want to seem ungrateful, but you can see that I'm in a
hard position. I want to do the decent thing by everyone, if I can."
"That's right," Blagden agreed heartily, "and something else is bound
to turn up soon. Where can I get hold of you if I want you? How much
longer do you stay as chauffeur?"
"Only till Monday," Atherton answered. "After that, write me at the
Standard Motor Works till further notice. And now I must be getting
home; there's no train for two hours if I miss the next one. No hard
feeling, Blagden?"
"Not a bit," Blagden answered. "You're quite right. I didn't agree
with you at first, but I do now. Good-by and good luck."
His tone was cordiality itself, but when he had regained the street,
Atherton began to wonder whether or not his friend was speaking the
truth. As Mills had artlessly phrased it, it "didn't sound like"
Blagden; Blagden the bold, the tenacious and the daring. "I'll take no
chances," he reflected, "I owe him a great deal, as he said, but I can
still keep my eyes open." And if he could have looked back into the
room he had just left, and could have heard the flood of vituperation
which streamed from Blagden's lips, he would have realized the wisdom
of his resolve.
CHAPTER XVI
The Final Effort
The clock in the village struck two, and Atherton, crouching in the
darkness amid the shrubbery on the lawn, hailed with relief the
distant coming of daybreak.
Unable, upon reflection, to credit Blagden's sincerity, he had left
the employ of Mr. Hamilton on Monday, as agreed, but before beginning
work at the factory had asked for, and obtained, a three days' leave
of absence. And now, for the third successive evening, he had come to
stand guard, trusting that if Blagden tried to carry out his plan, he
could at least prevent danger of injury to the inmates of the house.
Between midnight and three o'clock in the morning; this, he had
decided, would be the time for any such attempt, for before midnight,
the house had scarcely settled down to slumber, and after three the
first faint light of the midsummer dawn began to brighten in the sky.
The first two nights had passed without incident, and of this, the
third and last, only an hour remained; yet Atherton experienced no
sense of relaxation from the tension of his vigil, for if the trial
was to be made at all, now seemed to him the fitting time. The night
was overcast; a fresh damp wind blew from the south; and a veiled moon
and scuds of flying cloud portended rain. "If I were a housebreaker,"
thought Atherton, "I should call this my chance. You couldn't see a
man to-night until he was right on top of you--My God, what's that?"
Not twenty feet away from him, a shadowy figure glided, ghost like,
through the shrubbery, bent low and travelling so rapidly that before
Atherton had time fairly to collect his senses, the man's form was
again invisible in the darkness. Atherton's heart-beats quickened.
That this was Stoat he had no doubt whatever, and now, for the first
time, he realized the difficulties of his task--an unskilled amateur
attempting to shadow one of the best professional burglars in New
York. Yet whether he liked it or not, the moment for action had come,
and acutely conscious of the awkwardness of his movements, he crept as
best he could after his predecessor. An open window on the veranda
showed him where the thief had entered, and with hammering pulses
Atherton followed suit, and automatic in hand crept cautiously up the
staircase to the second floor, and at the head of the stairs crouched,
listening, in the shadow of the hall. Marshall Hamilton's room lay to
the left. Helen's was directly opposite the stairway, and from the
right, where Mrs. Hamilton slept, he could hear stifled breathing and
an occasional low moan which told him that her malady was at its
worst. Far away, at the end of the hall, a single light burned dimly,
and presently, without the slightest sound, he saw the housebreaker's
sinister and shadowy form coming stealthily, with the same rapid
gliding motion, down the hallway toward the stairs. Clearly, thought
Atherton, Stoat had accomplished the first part of his mission in
safety, and he had just begun to experience a sensation of relief when
all at once, to his consternation, came the very sound he had been
dreading, the faint tinkle of the bell which connected Mrs. Hamilton's
room with her daughter's, and by means of which the elder woman was
accustomed to call the younger to her aid. Stoat, too, must have heard
it, for he stopped instantly, and for a few breathless moments all was
silence. Then the shadowy form once more advanced, and had almost
reached the head of the stairs when the door of Helen's room was
suddenly thrown open, and the girl, clad in her wrapper, stepped
quickly forth into the hall.
What followed occurred with the rapidity of lightning. Simultaneously
the girl detected the presence of the housebreaker, and Stoat sprang
forward with upraised arm; and in the next fraction of a second--a
space too short to permit the use of his revolver--Atherton too had
leaped, and the blow of the blackjack, meant for Helen, struck him a
glancing blow on the head, and sent him reeling to the floor, while
Stoat, at headlong speed, made off down the stairs. Yet he was not to
escape scotfree, for through the haze that blinded him, and despite
the agony of pain, Atherton contrived to raise himself on one elbow,
and steadying himself with a mighty effort, sent a shot down the
staircase after the fugitive. Then the lights that flashed before his
eyes seemed to recede and to grow faint; darkness descended upon the
world; and he fell back unconscious, a creeping trickle of red bearing
witness to the power of the burglar's blow.
Meanwhile, in the trees near the turn of the road, Blagden and Mills
waited anxiously, gazing at the outline of the house, filmed dimly
against the sky. Here at last was the climax of their adventure; if
Stoat lived up to his reputation, success was almost within their
grasp. And thus, although the night was mild, Blagden was aware that
he was trembling with excitement, and even the phlegmatic Mills was
moved beyond his usual calm, and fidgeted uneasily as the moments
passed.
Still came no sign of their accomplice, and at length Blagden turned
the flashlight on the dial of his watch. "He's been gone twenty
minutes," he muttered. "Pretty nearly time for him now."
"Yes," Mills assented, "he said he meant to do a quick job. But I
suppose it all depends on the watch; whether he can get it and how
much is on it. _Great God!_"
Across the silence of the night, sharp, unmistakable, ominous, sounded
the report of a pistol. Blagden uttered an oath. "Damnation," he
cried, "they've got him."
"Perhaps he fired himself," suggested Mills.
"I don't believe it," returned Blagden. "I told him not to shoot,
except as a last resource. Listen. What's that?"
They paused, every nerve on the alert, but Blagden had been mistaken,
and for some moments they heard nothing. Then, at last, far away up
the road, there sounded through the stillness the sound of rapid
footsteps. "He's got away," cried Mills. "Thank Heaven for that."
"I don't care a hang for _him_," returned Blagden brutally, "if only
he's got what we want. We'd better be ready. They'll be after him."
More and more distinctly sounded the footfalls, and presently a dark
figure became visible. Mills started from the bushes, but Blagden laid
a restraining hand upon his arm. "Careful," he cautioned. "Let's be
sure it's Stoat."
But in another moment it was evident that it was their accomplice. And
evidently, too, he was either hurt, or spent with running, for they
could distinguish his hurried, gasping breaths, and could see that he
appeared to be advancing aimlessly, zigzagging from one side of the
road to the other.
Blagden stepped forward, "Here," he called sharply, "this way." And at
the sound of his voice Stoat turned and staggered toward them. He was
in sore straits. His head swung back and forth like that of an athlete
exhausted in a race, and keeping to his work only by a sheer effort of
the will. At once, Blagden put his arm around him, and half drew, half
carried him into the bushes, but at the contact the housebreaker could
not keep back a groan. "They--got me," he whispered haltingly. "I'm
all in. Guess--I'm going to croak."
As he uttered the words, Blagden suddenly felt his burden relax in his
grasp, and picking the man up bodily, he retreated still further into
the woods, and laid him down upon the ground. Then, examining him with
the flashlight, he ripped open his coat and vest and saw that his
shirt was stained with blood. "Here's a mess," he murmured, and made
his way back to Mills. "Keep a good lookout," he directed, and
returned to Stoat, who lay without sound or motion on his bed of
leaves and moss.
"Done for," reflected Blagden. But it was not Stoat's condition that
disturbed him; his mind was set wholly on the success or failure of
his mission. And accordingly he stooped, ran his fingers quickly over
the housebreaker's person, felt something in one of the pockets of his
vest, and with fingers which trembled drew forth an old-fashioned
watch which he felt instinctively could be no other than the one he
sought. Without the loss of a second, he threw open the case, and
hardly daring to look for fear of a crushing disappointment, beheld,
to his delight, row after row of tiny figures, interspersed with
arrows pointing up or down. Patient delving among Bellingham's papers
had made him familiar with the theory of the symbols, and instantly he
realized that here, as plain as print, lay the precious key to the
whole vast mystery. And then, in a flash, it came over him how
wonderfully Fate had played into their hands, and though every moment
was of value, yet he felt certain, with the gambler's instinct, that
he must take an added risk, and once again hastened back to Mills'
side.
"If you hear anyone coming," he whispered, "let me know instantly.
Otherwise keep quiet until I return." And once more regaining the
housebreaker's side, he drew a notebook from his pocket, and with
scrupulous care transferred the table of figures from the case. This
accomplished, he replaced the watch in the pocket of the injured man,
and bending over him with the hope that Stoat was either dead or
dying, he asked, "How do you feel?"
But to his dismay the housebreaker showed a wonderful vitality and
tenacity of life. "Better," he gasped. "I believe I could walk, if
you'll give me a lift."
Blagden, calculating the future with a heart of steel, nerved himself
for the task before him. "All right," he answered soothingly, "I'll
help you. Lie still a minute." Then, with a movement quicker than
thought, which caught Stoat wholly off his guard, he threw himself
across the burglar's body, with one hand over his mouth and with the
other gripping his nostrils in an iron clasp. Galvanized into life,
the housebreaker, with the instinctive effort of self-preservation,
for a moment struggled desperately, while horrible choking gasps were
muffled in his throat, but his injury, his weakness, and Blagden's
terrible grip made the encounter all too unequal, and presently there
came a quick collapse, and his writhings ceased. Blagden rose to his
knees, and lifted one of Stoat's arms. It fell back limply. Then, with
a shudder of disgust, he picked up the body in his arms and bore it
rapidly toward the road.
He found Mills standing where he had left him, listening intently. "I
think they're coming," he whispered.
"So much the better," answered Blagden grimly. And advancing from the
bushes, he placed the body of the dead man face downward in the road,
and as his ears caught the sound of an approaching motor, he leaped
back to shelter and grasped his companion by the arm. "Come on!" he
cried. "We must get away from here as quickly as we can."
A moment or two after they had vanished into the depths of the woods,
the headlights of a motor, driven at slow speed, brightened the road,
and presently a man's voice cried sharply, "There he is. Right ahead."
Immediately Marshall Hamilton leaped from the car, ran forward, and
precisely as Blagden had done, began hastily to examine Stoat's
clothing. Instantly his fingers closed on the object he sought, and
with a gasp of relief, he drew it forth and returned it to his own
pocket. Then, without a glance at the housebreaker, "Saved," he
murmured. "Thank God."
CHAPTER XVII
The Power and the Glory
Mills drained his second cup of coffee, lit a cigarette, and rising,
walked over to the window and gazed forth across the square. "A funny
little town," he observed, half to Blagden and half to himself. "The
buildings are low and the brows of the citizens are high--or supposed
to be." Then, turning, he continued, "Blagden, there's undoubtedly a
touch of humor to all this. Here we are, breakfasting in a private
room in Boston's most exclusive hotel, like a couple of millionaires,
and after we've begged and borrowed, raked and scraped, the sum total
of our wealth amounts to just six thousand dollars. I call it a case
of make or break."
"Make or break," Blagden assented, "is right. But I'm not worrying.
We're going down into State Street with the best chance that two
fellows ever had in this world. And I believe we're going to get away
with it."
"I hope so," said Mills somewhat dubiously, "but oughtn't we to wait a
while longer? It's only three days since we got what we went after. I
should think it might be safer to lie low until everything has blown
over--long enough so that no possible suspicion could attach to us."
"No," Blagden answered, "emphatically not. In the first place,
everything broke just right for us. They must have found Stoat with
the watch in his pocket, and that is proof positive that he tried to
escape with it and failed. How can they connect us with him?"
"Through Atherton, of course," responded Mills.
"It's true," Blagden agreed, "that Atherton might impart his
suspicions to Hamilton, but the betting is all the other way. In the
first place, if Atherton accuses us, he is obliged to confess to
knowing a lot more than he is supposed to know, and considering what
happened to Bellingham, I imagine that might be equivalent to a sudden
and unpleasant death. Now if he's in love with Hamilton's daughter,
that is the last thing he's going to do. And besides, what does he
gain? Nothing. And even if he could keep himself clear of danger, he
must realize that it's too risky to try to hurt us while we're holding
our blackmail threat in reserve. No, we've nothing to fear from
Atherton, and as for the rest of it, there's no reason under the sun
why we should be thought of for a moment."
"I believe you're right," Mills admitted. "But I'll feel better if we
find our system really works."
"I haven't a doubt of it," Blagden asserted, "but we'll soon know. In
any event, we have the code by heart. I could say it backwards and
forwards; up and down."
"So could I," answered Mills. "Where did you say you were going to
trade?"
"I've found the very place," responded Blagden. "Floyd & Meredith, in
the Exchange Building. They are thoroughly reliable, and the office is
precisely the right size. It's big enough so we won't attract
attention--they have perhaps fifteen or twenty customers in the
office, on an average. And it's small enough so that we can always
have a place at the ticker, and see our stuff as it comes."
Mills stared out into the sunshine. "And what sized lots," he asked,
"are you going to trade in?"
"I shall take no chances," Blagden answered. "I am going to be over
cautious, for if anything happens this time, it will surely be our
finish. I'm going to play in three lots of a hundred shares each,
which will give us twenty points margin on each lot. That's
conservative, isn't it?"
"Sure," Mills grinned. "After some of the shoestring margins I've
played on, twenty points sounds like the Bank of England, with certain
portions of Broadway thrown in. And whether you buy or sell, I suppose
it will be on a scale, up or down."
"Exactly," Blagden assented. "That is the way the big men do it; we
know that now for a certainty. And what is good enough for them is
good enough for us."
There was silence for a moment; then Blagden continued earnestly,
"Tubby, if we are right, can you imagine what this is going to mean?
Think of it. Actually to win, instead of losing. No more horror of
sudden bulges or drops. No more nightmares of dwindling margins. No
more agony of stop orders caught and accounts wiped out. To think of
piling up gold, steadily, unceasingly, till we have all we want.
Honestly, it seems too good to be true."
Mills sighed. "That's what I'm afraid of," he rejoined. "I've been a
lamb--or a goat, whichever you choose to call it--so long, that I
can't make myself believe we can ever take money out of the market.
But there's one comfort; we've always lost before, so if we lose again
this time, it won't be a new experience, and we really can't
complain."
Blagden rose from his seat. "We mustn't turn faint hearted now!" he
cried. "We've been through a good deal in the last ten days, or our
nerves would be in better shape. Come on, let's get down to State
Street and have it over with. As you say, we can't do more than lose."
A half hour later, they had entered the Exchange Building, ascended to
the office of Floyd & Meredith, and were cordially greeted by Farwell,
the amiable, bald-headed and inoffensive customers' man. It was still
a few minutes to ten; a dozen speculators talked, read, or studied the
"dope" in letters, telegrams and financial papers of all descriptions.
Bearishness was in the air. "They're a sale." That was the slogan on
every lip; that was the message, express or implied, upon each printed
page. From the firm's correspondents in New York came the word, "Sell
them on the bulges; don't buy them at any price."
Blagden strolled over to where Farwell was standing. "Not a very
bullish crowd in here," he observed.
"You're right, they're not," the customers' man replied. "They're all
bears now. And I believe they're right. I think this market is going
to break wide open."
"What's a good stock to sell?" asked Blagden.
"I think," Farwell answered, "that the rails will be the most
vulnerable. Take Union Pacific, now. Last months' earnings were very
poor, and there is talk of labor troubles; I understand they're facing
a serious situation. The industrials ought to go down, too. In fact, I
think the whole market is a sale, but I believe the rails will drop
the most."
Blagden walked over to where Mills was seated, reading the "Boston
News Bulletin." "Well," he queried, "what seems to be the big idea?"
Mills looked up from his reading. "The idea," he answered, "is that
the country is in a bad way. There's an article here on Union Pacific;
it says that in all probability the dividend is going to be cut. If
these were the old days, Blagden, and I was relying on my own
judgment, I know mighty well what I'd do. I'd sell my head off. The
short side looks like a cinch."
"Yes," acknowledged Blagden, "it does. And yet, reasoning from what we
know, isn't this the very time to be suspicious?" He turned as he
spoke and indicated the little knot of gamblers around the ticker.
"Now," he continued, lowering his voice, "according to what Farwell
just told me, practically every man there is short of the market. And
I suppose this office is only a sample of a great many others; I
suppose that it is fair to guess that the majority of traders are
short at this moment. Then comes the question: Are they going to win?
And if looks are any indication, I judge they're not."
Mills gazed at the group. "Blagden," he confided, "I think I begin to
see a great light. I never studied a group of speculators before; I
was always so busy with my own troubles that I never thought of anyone
else. But it's just as you say; those men are a pretty futile looking
crowd. There isn't one of them who looks as if he possessed any real
ability. There isn't one of them whose judgment you would be apt to
trust. I believe we're having a unique experience. We're seeing the
game played from the inside."
Ten o'clock came. The ticker whirred; the crowd pressed closer around
the tape; and presently Mills and Blagden strolled over and took their
places with the rest. Farwell looked up as they approached and with
extended forefinger pointed downward to indicate the trend.
"They're weak," he told them. "Awfully weak. You can sell 'em right
here. And there's pressure on Union, all right. It's off a point and a
half."
"Guess I'll have to sell some, then," said Blagden, and taking his
stand where he could read the tape he watched, outwardly calm, but
inwardly experiencing the thrill of excitement which comes to the man
who is watching the biggest game in the world. The market was active.
Quotation after quotation came whirring forth from the busy machine,
and then, all at once, appeared a heavy block of Union Pacific, the
figures tallying precisely with the symbols they had learned. Blagden
yawned, turned away from the ticker, and walked over to the window.
Presently Mills followed. "You saw it?" whispered Blagden.
"Sure," Mills answered. "They're buying it, and after you left they
flashed again to buy Reading and then to buy Southern Railway."
"Well," said Blagden, "there's no use waiting. Here's where we sink or
swim." And writing out an order to buy a hundred Union Pacific at the
market, he walked across the office to the order clerk, gave him the
slip of paper, and resumed his place at the tape.
Yet the market continued to decline, and the crowd of traders became
jubilant. Eyes glistened, tongues were loosened, and as the paper
profits grew larger before their eyes, more than one speculator,
taking advantage of a fleeting rally, wrote out and handed in further
orders to sell.
It was an exceedingly active day, and one of pronounced weakness as
well. In the course of another hour, Union Pacific had run off two
points more, and then, as a second flash appeared, Blagden bought a
second lot, and about two o'clock, as the whole market broke sharply
into a state of semi-panic, he purchased the third and last lot of one
hundred shares. "And now," he said as he rejoined Mills, "we've done
our best. As far as we can tell, we have done exactly what the big men
are doing, so if we don't win now, then we never will."
"There's just one thing," rejoined Mills thoughtfully, "that makes me
think we will win. And that is this. I've been watching these fellows
all day, and I've noticed that while every one of them is ahead on
paper, there isn't one solitary man who has actually cashed in.
Everyone says the market is going lower; everyone believes it; some of
them claim it's going ten, twenty, thirty points below where it is
now. It's been a big day--nearly two million shares--and what I'm
asking myself is: If these men, and others like them, are doing the
selling, then who in the name of goodness is doing the buying?"
Blagden nodded. "Tubby," he answered, "I've been thinking that same
thing. But all I'm wondering is, how much lower will they go? With our
margin, we ought to be safe for a long time yet, but I should think
the market ought to steady pretty soon."
And indeed, about twenty minutes before the close, the decline ceased,
and after a brief period of uncertainty, prices actually began to
improve. "Only a rally," was the cry around the ticker. "A rally in a
bear market." But to Mills and Blagden, watching the tape with the eye
of omniscience, every sign and symbol spelt, "Buy! Buy! Buy!" And by
closing time the tone of the market had altered so perceptibly that
the enthusiasm of the bears was changed to uneasiness, yet still, so
firmly does the human mind cling to its cherished hopes and dreams,
that not a man covered, but waited, undecided and irresolute, to see
what the morning would bring forth.
So the day ended. And for Mills and Blagden there followed an evening
of eager expectancy, and a sleepless night. The tone of all the papers
was still bearish and pessimistic; all the emphasis was laid upon the
decline, and none upon the rally. But when ten o'clock came around
again and the market opened, the tape itself told a far different
story, and Mills and Blagden, reading spellbound between the lines,
could see the mighty touch of a magician's hand. The attack at the
start was bold, direct, incisive. Stocks were up two to three points
all around. Then came a reaction; the market was made to "look weak";
and bears regained their courage; and put out fresh lines of shorts;
then followed a space of comparative inaction, with prices holding
firm, and finally, in the noon hour, when most of the traders had gone
to lunch, there came a sudden upward spurt which carried quotations to
new high levels for the day. Then, with the bears securely hemmed in,
began a steady, ceaseless advance, irresistible as the sweep of the
incoming sea. Up a quarter, back an eighth; up another quarter, back
another eighth; so continued the advance. And just at the close, with
new bulls rushing in to buy, and terrified bears scrambling for
safety, with the market fairly boiling with excitement, suddenly,
before Blagden's watching eyes, appeared the flash to sell, and in a
twinkling, too eager for his profits to think of waiting to sell upon
a scale, he shot the three hundred shares of Union upon the market,
and sold them at the top price for the day.
That night, over the most expensive dinner they could invent, the
pair, incoherent with happiness, reviewed the day's experiences, and
laid their plans for the morrow.
"Seventeen hundred dollars, Tubby," Blagden repeated, over and over
again. "Can you grasp it? Seventeen hundred dollars in two days. And
that's only a taste; only first blood. Now we'll go short, and down
she'll go; then we'll load up again. A flood of gold, Tubby. What does
the Bible say? 'The earth is ours and the fullness thereof.'"
And Tubby, his red face much redder even than usual, grew maudlin over
the champagne and the thoughts of the delights which awaited him until
at last grief assailed him, and he nearly wept as he uttered the
plaint of all the ages, "Sho much fun livin', it's shame to think
we're goin' die."
CHAPTER XVIII
Fate is Fickle
In the dim light of the early summer dawn Marshall Hamilton paced
restlessly to and fro across his study floor. He had returned from the
pursuit of Stoat to find that Helen had summoned Doctor Rowland, the
local physician, and had herself superintended the removal of
Atherton's body to the room left vacant by Bellingham. Shortly
afterward, the doctor had arrived, and although at a first cursory
examination he had shaken his head ominously, he was now engaged in a
more careful study of the patient's injuries, to see if human skill
could restore to life the flame which alternately seemed to flicker,
and then to subside, in the breast of the erstwhile chauffeur.
Yet it was not of the injured man that Marshall Hamilton was thinking,
for though he realized that it was to Atherton's bravery that he owed
his daughter's life, yet long years in the atmosphere of high finance
had so accustomed him to viewing the world in its immensity that
outside the scope of his own immediate family he had gradually become
a man of no emotions whatsoever. Mankind, to him, meant no longer the
isolated individual, but a vast, teeming mass of habits, customs,
tendencies; interesting, if studied in the bulk; wearisome and
insignificant, if reduced to a single microcosm. And Atherton,
therefore, was no more to him than any other pawn in the game; this
pawn had saved his Queen, and that was all.
But with regard to the banker's own affairs, so strangely disturbed by
this mysterious sequence of events which had threatened the system of
which he was the chief, here the situation was disconcerting in the
extreme. Only once before, in the twenty years of his leadership, had
there been room even for a suspicion that their secret was in danger,
and then, without waiting to discover whether or not these suspicions
were well founded, the man who had been the occasion of them had
suddenly disappeared, and everything had continued as before. But this
recent chain of incidents had been infinitely more alarming, for there
had been a cohesion between them which seemed to indicate not the
haphazard gropings of a single individual, but the concerted effort of
a group of bold and intelligent men.
To be sure, the attempt of McKay's chauffeur to follow his employer
had not caused them any great anxiety. Precautions, of course, had
been taken; among others, the placing of detectives at the houses of
both McKay and Hamilton; but no further trouble had been anticipated,
and the discovery by one of the detectives that Bellingham was
secretly working over the tape had come as an unwelcome shock, for the
incident of the chauffeur and the labors of the secretary had been so
closely connected in point of time that it seemed improbable that they
could have been merely a coincidence. And although, in the case of
Bellingham, further investigation might perhaps have shown that the
secretary was merely one of the many innocuous "chart fiends," and
that there was nothing sinister in his study of the tape, this
possibility was strongly negatived by Bellingham's sudden flight, an
event which had necessitated his murder upon the very eve of his
departure from the country. And here, with this double tragedy, the
banker had confidently expected the disturbance to cease, instead of
which had ensued, with almost incredible boldness, the events of the
night, and the endeavor, within an ace of being successful, at
capturing the cypher which held the key to the seemingly purposeless
fluctuations of the stock market. Thus the banker was most profoundly
disturbed. By what possible chance the secret could have been
fathomed--how the impregnable defence of forty years had all at once
been beaten down--was wholly incomprehensible. And yet, grave as the
situation was, there was still much for which to be thankful. For if
Atherton's bullet had not gone to its mark, and the marauder had
escaped with the watch, there might easily have resulted a scandal
which would have shaken the country from one end to the other. But as
it was, it appeared that although by the narrowest of margins they had
managed to escape, and the next task was to be on the alert to see
whether more attempts would be made, or whether this, as he most
devoutly hoped, would be the last.
A knock at the door aroused him, and the imperturbable Martin stood
aside to admit Doctor Howland, gray-haired, a trifle bent, but still a
hale and vigorous man.
"Well," asked Mr. Hamilton, "how do you find him?"
"He's badly off," the doctor answered. "There's no doubt about that.
He is still unconscious, and his heart action is distinctly
unfavorable. In fact, Mr. Hamilton, to put it bluntly, I should say
that he is at the point of death. Your daughter is still with him; she
has been most helpful; but I have sent for a nurse, who will come at
once. We will do all we can, and of course, if you say the word, there
are other men whom you cay call in consultation. Charles Carrington,
for instance, has done wonders in these cases, and Kennedy is good,
also, though of the two, I believe Carrington is the more skillful."
The banker nodded. "I see," he responded briefly. "Yes, I think we
should do what we can. By all means, I had better send for
Carrington."
The doctor jotted a number on a scrap of paper, handed it to the
financier, and was about to leave the room when Helen Hamilton, her
face as pale as death, met him upon the threshold. "Quick, doctor,"
she cried, "he's delirious, and trying to get up. I've left Martin
with him." And with a deep-drawn breath she added imploringly, "Oh,
isn't there anything that you can do?"
The doctor, without replying, strode quickly up the stairs, the banker
following at his heels, while Helen, sinking into a chair, and
striving to keep back the tears, prayed imploringly to Heaven for the
life of the man she loved.
They found Atherton tossing restlessly from side to side, his eyes
wide-open and glassy, the flush of fever in his cheeks. Martin was at
his side, but as they entered, the bell rang sharply and the butler
left the room, leaving Marshall Hamilton and the Doctor alone with the
injured man.
Atherton was no longer violent, but plainly enough the events of the
last few weeks were passing, in chaos, through his disordered brain,
for he muttered to himself unceasingly, and presently, as his voice
gathered strength, they could distinguish clearly what he said,
although the words seemed ironically trivial. "I like dogs," he
whispered confidentially. "He's a good little pup. I'm glad he's all
right."
Again Martin entered the room. "A telephone message for Doctor
Rowland," he announced. "They would like him to come to Mrs. Horton's
at once."
The doctor turned to the financier. "A childbirth case," he explained.
"I must go, and as a matter of fact, there is very little that I can
do here. The nurse will arrive at any moment; I have explained to her
everything that is to be done. You had better get Carrington." And he
hastily left the room.
"Shall I remain here, sir?" inquired the butler, but Hamilton shook
his head. "No, look after affairs down stairs," he answered, and
Martin withdrew, leaving the banker alone with the unconscious
Atherton.
The mutterings ceased; then broke forth again; and presently, quite
clearly and with a note of surprise in his tone, the sick man
exclaimed, "Marshall Hamilton!"
The banker started. His first thought was that Atherton had suddenly
regained consciousness, and involuntarily he stepped forward toward
the bed, but Atherton still gazed straight before him, with no sign of
recognition in his staring eyes, and whatever it was that had caused
the utterance of the banker's name, it was evident that in a few brief
seconds he had traversed countless miles of space and numberless hours
of time, for now he was talking earnestly with some one else, his
voice high-pitched and querulous with anxiety.
"You can't do that, Blagden!" he cried. "That's blackmail. And
remember his wife is an invalid. It might kill her if she knew." Then
silence, and then again, "I tell you you can't, Blagden; I'll leave it
to Mills. How about it, Tubby; you wouldn't do that?"
Again silence. In breathless amazement, Marshall Hamilton stood gazing
at the prostrate figure on the bed. He could not mistake the meaning
of the words; this message was for him; his sin, long cherished in
secret, had found him out. But before he could think or act, another
portion of the wild phantasmagoria flashed on the clouded brain, and
Atherton, trying hard to raise himself from the pillow, exclaimed
eagerly, "On the watch; on the watch for these signals. You're right,
Blagden, that's the whole question: verb or noun!"
For the first time in many years, the banker wholly lost his
composure; his heart seemed suddenly to contract, and instinctively he
clutched at the chair beside him for support. Horror was being piled
on horror. Was his whole life an open book? Did the whole world know
his secret? In what possible way, after the strict precaution of
years, had he and his associates thus betrayed themselves, or been
betrayed?
Atherton, exhausted, now lay without motion, breathing rapidly and
weakly, and presently, as the banker's glance fell upon the paper in
his hand, containing the number of the specialist, with a sudden
movement, as if seeking to take vengeance on an inanimate object, he
crumpled it and thrust it into his pocket. This man had saved his
daughter's life, and it was his bullet that had brought down the
escaping thief, but he knew far too much and therefore it was better
that he should die.
Again footsteps sounded in the hallway; Martin ushered in the nurse;
and the banker, thus relieved, went slowly down the stairs to his
study, his mind in a turmoil of apprehension and of actual fear. Helen
stood awaiting him upon the threshold. "Is he better?" she cried. "Is
there any hope?"
Even for Hamilton, with his thoughts intent upon other things, there
could be no mistaking the intensity of her tone. And since he was
genuinely fond of his daughter, he answered. "He's about the same."
And then without wasting words, he added, "Why? Do you care for him?"
She stood regarding him gravely, and without a trace of false shame,
she answered simply, "More than for anyone in the world. I can't live
without him. Oh, father, he _must_ get well."
Marshall Hamilton hesitated. Through and through, a man of large
affairs, he knew well the oath that he had sworn, long years ago; knew
it to be his duty to see that by fair means or foul Atherton's mouth
was closed forever. Yet knowing all this, here stood his only
daughter, agonized, beseeching. There was a moment's tense silence;
then the banker turned and pressed the electric bell. "We'll do what
we can, dear," he said, and as Martin, immaculate, unruffled and
debonair, answered his call, he handed him a crumpled bit of paper.
"Get Doctor Carrington at once," he ordered. "Tell him expense doesn't
matter; I must have him here at once. Tell him it's a case of life and
death."
CHAPTER XIX
The Sowers of the Wind
All through the night and the early morning a summer northeaster had
lashed the city streets; the pavements glistened with moisture; the
hurrying rainclouds obscured the sun. But now, as the day advanced,
the wind veered to the north, and presently appeared patches of blue
sky, and a ray of sunshine, piercing its way through the curtains of
the room, fell upon the face of the slumbering Mills, as he lay
breathing heavily, mouth parted, and the mottled red and white of his
cheeks bearing witness to the excesses of the past two weeks.
Presently, as the sunbeam reached the level of his eyes, he twitched
and stirred uneasily, and finally awakening, sat bolt upright with a
sound midway between a yawn and a groan, and extending his legs over
the side of the bed, remained inert, supporting his aching head in his
hands. Then, perceiving that Blagden still slept, he seized a pillow
and flung it with such certain aim that his companion, thus rudely
aroused, started up spasmodically from his couch and perceiving the
cause for his awakening, scowled savagely, growled, "Oh, don't act
like a damned kid," and tried to compose himself for further slumber.
But the shock had been effectual, and at length, realizing the
futility of the attempt, he assumed the same position occupied by
Mills, and heavy-eyed and blinking, the pair sat gazing at each other
across the room.
"Blagden," said Mills solemnly, "do you care to know my genuine,
sincere opinion of life in general?"
Blagden grinned faintly. "If you feel the way I do," he answered, "I
can guess it right now. But if it will cheer you up to get it off your
mind, why go ahead."
Mills needed no further encouragement. "Life," he observed, "is a
fake; an ugly, rotten fake. There's no fun in it; there's no good in
it; there's no pleasure; there's no satisfaction. It's dust and ashes,
and I'm tired and sick of it."
Blagden's smile broadened. "Well, of all the ingratitude," he
rejoined. "When we made our first clean-up, a fortnight ago, you told
me life was the most splendid, gorgeous, wonderful thing imaginable.
If things had gone against us since then, you might complain, but they
haven't; everything that could come our way has come our way. The
system is perfect; where we had six thousand dollars we have fifteen
thousand now; and in a year we'll have to hire a special safety
deposit vault. And in the meantime think of the pace we've set. Have
we been temperance advocates, preachers of the Gospel, haters of
women? The answer is; No, decidedly and emphatically, No. It has been
some fortnight; some happy little fortnight, Tubby, my boy."
Mills groaned. "That's just the trouble," he complained. "All my life,
I've looked forward to the time when I could travel as fast as I
wanted to, without caring a hang for the expense. And now that I've
done it, what a mess it's been. I don't want to eat or drink again as
long as I live, and as for women--" he shuddered--"Good Lord, Blagden,
I can't bear the thought of them. Lumps of flesh, with wide-open
mouths, crying 'Give, give, give!' Beasts, that's all they are; ugly,
crawling beasts; to the deuce with the whole of them."
He passed a shaking hand across his eyes, trying to brush away the
film of cobweb which hung there. But his hand passed through it, and
the film remained.
Blagden looked at him curiously. "Better pull up a bit, Tubby," he
admonished. "You don't want a session with the D. Ts. I know just how
you feel, but wait till you've had a bath and a bracer, and you'll be
all right again. In fact, you've got to be all right again; this is
the night we're going out to Danforth's for a time with those girls
from the south. Had you forgotten?"
"By Jove, I had," Mills acknowledged. But at the thought of Danforth
and the pictures he had shown them, the embers of gorged and glutted
lust began to glow again. "Well," he said more cheerfully, "this will
be a bit different from the usual thing. Besides that, we'll be in the
country. What a damnable place the city is. You know, Blagden," he
went on confidentially, gazing straight before him, "sometimes lately
I catch myself doing something I've never done before; I keep thinking
back to when I was a kid. I suppose that's a sign I'm growing old.
Why, darn it all, I can remember the room I used to have, and the
little white bed, and the long summer nights with the crickets singing
away outside in the moonlight, and there I'd lie awake, kind of
wondering what it was all about, anyway, and thinking how fine it
would be to grow up to be a man. And now--"
His voice died away. "You've got the same idea," observed Blagden, "as
the man who said that the country boy comes to the city and works hard
all his days to earn enough so that at the end of his life he can go
back and live in the country again."
"And he was right!" cried Mills. "That's the absolute truth. This
money game is all rot. I want the country again. The grass and the
brooks and the trees, the singing of the birds, the sweep of the sky
over the hills, sunrise and sunset--Oh God--oh God--"
Once more he passed his hand over his burning eyes. Blagden, rising,
walked over and laid a hand on his shoulder. "There, there," he said
not unkindly, "I never knew _you_ had nerves. We'd better send you
away for a week; I can look after things here."
With an effort, Mills regained control of himself. "Confound it all,"
he cried, "I must be in poor shape to act like this. Excuse me,
Blagden, I'm all right now." Then, as another thought struck him, he
added, "But think of this fellow Danforth that we've been so thick
with. How on earth does he stand it? He's no athlete; he's not half my
size. But he's stayed with us for two weeks; drink for drink; girl for
girl. And I swear he's as fresh as when we started. How do you account
for that?"
"This man Danforth," Blagden answered, "is a product of little old New
York. And that is half the battle. But even at that, he's a wonder.
All of him that isn't steel is whipcord and whalebone, and he carries
a copper riveted boiler where his stomach ought to be. In short, he's
a bear and a bird, and an all-around phenomenon, and as a physical
specimen I take off my hat to him. But as a speculator, Tubby, he's
the worst I ever saw. He's been losing money like water."
"I know he has," Mills answered. "And it's a shame, too, because he's
an awfully decent little chap. I couldn't help tipping him off the
other day. He was long of stocks in a market that was just going to
break wide open, and I told him to get out. He did, too, and only just
in time. I saved him from a slaughter."
Blagden looked troubled. "Be careful, Tubby," he admonished. "We don't
want to get the reputation of being money makers; that's our one
danger now. I'd rather act as if we were losing it; in fact, I think
we'd better lose occasionally just to cover up our tracks. However, I
guess there's no harm done. Danforth is harmless, and we owe him
something for the time he's going to give us to-night."
An hour later they discovered Danforth, flower in buttonhole, spruce
and smiling after three hours' sleep, displaying to the customers at
Floyd & Meredith's a new buck-and-wing step in the centre of the
office floor. But he desisted to greet his friends. "It's all right,"
he told them confidentially, "The girls got in this morning, and
to-night will be one great and glorious time. They are ladies, you
understand; as fine girls as you'd want to meet anywhere; but chock
full of the devil, and once in a while, on the quiet--well, you
understand. Take the five-thirty for Fairview; I'll meet you at the
station. There's the bell; I'm short of Steel and she's going up on
me. See you later." And he leaped for the ticker.
That afternoon Mills and Blagden spent at the ball game, but managed
to reach the train in time, and Danforth, meeting them at their
destination, whirled them away in his motor along the winding country
roads through groves of pines, past fertile meadows, and by stretches
of marsh where the sunset stained the pools of water as red as blood.
"Lonely," said Danforth, "but I like it. And especially for a time
like this. Here we are, safe and sound."
The motor drew up in front of the plain old country house, and as they
followed their guide into the hall, they could see through an open
doorway the table bright with silver and linen, set for six. "The
girls," Danforth explained, "have been spending the day at Eastfield.
They're coming over by motor; ought to be here any minute now. Just
let me show you your room."
They followed him upstairs, and down the upper hall to the rear of the
house, where he flung open the door of the guest room, and stood back
for them to enter. "There," he said heartily, "make yourselves at
home. I'm just going to the kitchen for a minute to see that
everything's all right, and I'll be back again in no time."
He departed, closing the door behind him, and Mills throwing himself
into an easy chair, gazed around him with approval. The room was
old-fashioned and low studded, but comfortably furnished, and the
drawn shades and the mellow light from the lamp on the table combined
to give it an appearance both homelike and inviting. Blagden, after a
similar appreciative glance, followed Mills' example, and both of
them, wearied after many days of tense excitement around the ticker,
followed by nights of wild carousal, sat in pleasurable silence, their
thoughts busied with visions of enjoyment to come.
Presently they heard outside the throbbing of a motor. "There come the
ladies," hazarded Mills, but after his surfeit of dissipation, he did
not pay their fair companions the compliment of rising from his chair.
Nor did Blagden stir. Yet he listened keenly to the sound of the
motor, and suddenly observed, "That car wasn't coming, Tubby; it was
going. What do you suppose that means?"
"Don't know and don't care," yawned Mills, stretching his huge arms
luxuriously above his head, "but I've one fault, though, to find with
Danforth's taste. He seems to have a prejudice against ventilation.
It's fearfully close in here."
Blagden rose, with just the faintest shadow of anxiety upon his face.
"You're right," he agreed. "Let's have some air."
As he spoke, he walked over to the window, snapped up the curtain, and
then gave a cry so sharp and so fraught with alarm that Mills
involuntarily leaped from his seat, and stood gazing with blanched
cheeks at the space where a window should have been, but which,
instead, was barricaded by a plate of solid steel. In spite of
himself, Mills felt as if the blood had ceased flowing in his veins,
and his voice sounded thick and strained as he cried, "What's this?
Some fool joke?"
Without a word, Blagden had rushed to the other window, only to
encounter a similar barrier. And then suddenly, even in the midst of
his excitement, he was aware of a disagreeably penetrating odor in the
room. "Tubby," he cried, "it's gas; poison gas! He's trying to murder
us. Where does it come from?"
But there was no time to search. Already they began to experience a
strange lightheadedness, a singing in the ears, and a numbing
heaviness in their limbs. Mills tried the door, found it locked, and
terrified and trembling, turned instinctively to his leader.
"Blagden," he gasped, "what can we do?" But there came no answer, and
he saw that his comrade had fallen and lay motionless upon the floor.
Thus thrown upon his own resources, desperation seized him, and a
blind fury at the treachery of the man whom they had trusted as their
friend. Hastily crossing the room, and mindful of the old savage drill
upon the football field, he ran full speed and hurled himself bodily
against the door. Before that terrific impact, the wood split and
splintered, and Mills, tearing wildly, with torn fingers, at the gap
thus made, managed to force an opening--only to see, shimmering in the
lamplight, again the glint of polished steel. And now despair, grim
and relentless, gripped his heart. To him, who had loved life so
ardently, and had lived it so emptily, appeared the shadow of Death.
Staggering, helpless, with blood trickling from nose and mouth, he
retreated once again; again, with a last flicker of energy, charged
the gate of steel; struck it, full force; fell reeling to his knees;
tried to rise, tottered, and then, slowly, like some giant tree
beneath the woodsman's axe, he crashed headlong, and lay still.
CHAPTER XX
The End
The glory of the morning turned the world to gold, and presently
Atherton awakened, strengthened and refreshed, and for the first time
since his accident, feeling that he was really himself once more.
Consciousness, or rather semi-consciousness, had returned a week ago,
and since that time he had dwelt in a state of delightful
convalescence, sleeping, eating, sleeping again, his body slowly
regaining the energy destroyed by the ravages of the fever. He had
been forbidden to talk, and at first, indeed, his brain had been too
incurious for him to wonder greatly concerning the events of the night
on which he had been struck down.
Helen herself was safe, for she had come often to relieve the nurse
and to sit by his side, while he had purposely feigned sleep for the
delight of watching her from half-closed eyes. And Mr. Hamilton was
unharmed, for he too had found time to make occasional visits to the
sick room. And therefore the success or failure of Stoat's mission had
seemed to him, at first, a matter of relative unimportance. But now,
as his strength returned, so did his interest in the whole affair, and
he found himself hoping that Stoat had achieved what he was after, for
that, he felt, would be the surest way of freeing the Hamilton
household from danger. And if successful, how, he wondered, were Mills
and Blagden progressing with their hair-brained scheme of acquiring
riches untold.
His curiosity was soon to be gratified, for that afternoon, after the
doctor had made his visit, Marshall Hamilton came into the room, and
drew up a chair beside the bed.
"Doctor Carrington informs me," he began, "that you are out of all
danger, and on the high-road to recovery."
Atherton felt instinctively that there was something behind the words,
and that they were not the mere commonplaces they seemed. "Yes,
indeed," he answered. "I'm feeling very fit. Almost as well as ever."
"That is good," the banker answered, "and I am doubly glad, because it
now becomes necessary for us to have a talk of some importance."
It was coming, then. Atherton mentally braced himself for the ordeal.
"I am ready," he said.
There was silence. Then, "You had two friends," said Marshall
Hamilton, "named Blagden and Mills."
Atherton gave him a quick glance, but the face of the financier was
inscrutable. Yet Atherton was sure that the "had" was no mere slip of
the tongue, and the significance of the word was not lost upon him.
"Yes," he answered, "that is so."
"They are dead," said Marshall Hamilton.
Atherton drew a quick breath, and though he heard with emotions
strangely mingled, yet sorrow was uppermost in his heart. With Blagden
he had differed, and Blagden had played him false, yet he had admired
the man's courage, his energy, his enthusiasm, while as for Mills,
poor old Tubby had always been a genial, kindly boy. And there was
moisture in his eyes and a tightening in his throat as the financier
went on, "They played with fire, and the flame consumed them. Yet
through no fault of their own. They played boldly for a high stake and
they played well. They must have been brave, ingenious, shrewd--"
He paused; then slowly and thoughtfully continued, "I have lived for
over fifty years. I have enjoyed this world. I have tried to observe
and study both myself and my fellow men. But to me the most
fascinating thing in life has been to watch Destiny play its game with
us all. Do you believe in God?"
Atherton hesitated. "No," he answered, "I do not think that I do."
"My own belief," said the banker, "is in a God, but not the God of the
Bible. Moore, the novelist, has described him in a phrase which I have
always admired. 'The Greater Aristophanes.' Isn't that perfect? He is
not the blameless, faultless God of Scripture, but infinitely more
human. He is a humorist; sometimes a grim one. Doubtless I appear to
you to be wandering, but I am not. Here is the point. This Greater
Aristophanes has played with us all--with you and your friends,
with me and my friends, with my family and with Bellingham, my
secretary--weaving us all into a strange, fantastic web, and always on
the side of your friends until the final moment. And then--a sudden
humor seizes him--he changes sides, and allows a blow to fall on your
head. You become ill--delirious--and in your ravings you lay bare the
whole mystery which has puzzled me for so long, and incidentally,
through no fault of your own, you sign the death warrant of your
friends."
Atherton, overwhelmed, lay silent. "Then you know," he said at length,
"what the burglary was for?"
For answer, the banker drew forth his watch, held it up before
Atherton's eyes, and replaced it in his pocket. "I know everything,"
he said. "This was no time for half measures. Rightly or wrongly, your
belongings have been searched, and I have found the paper which
explains the whole affair."
The pause lengthened. Apparently, it seemed to Atherton, the banker
was giving him time to assimilate this news, and surely he needed it.
And more and more, as he reflected, grew his wonder as to what his
position might be. Death had been meted out to Mills and Blagden for
their knowledge. Why should he escape? Instinctively he glanced at the
financier as if to read his thoughts, and as if he understood the
look--indeed, as if he had been expecting it--Hamilton spoke.
"You are, perhaps, wondering," he said, "as to my attitude toward
you."
"That," responded Atherton, "is precisely what I should like to know."
"I have been," the banker answered, "greatly puzzled, but it has
seemed to me that we should have a moment's talk of a most
confidential nature. And I am not," he added grimly, "going to extort
any pledge of secrecy. Knowing the fate of Bellingham, of Mills and of
Blagden, you will understand why I deem that unnecessary."
In spite of himself, Atherton shuddered. He felt weak, powerless, as
if he were lying bound in the path of some huge engine of destruction.
"This system, of which you are cognizant," continued the financier,
"really exists. It is our policy to deny it, but with you that would
hardly serve. It exists. It has existed for forty years. It is
international in its scope, and although vague rumors are occasionally
heard regarding it, and it is periodically assailed upon suspicion, so
far our secrets have been so well guarded, and the punishment meted
out to those who have spied upon us, or even talked about us, have
been so crushingly severe, that we have maintained an impregnable
defence. The system is open to criticism; I do not deny that. To many
men and women it has brought disaster, ruin, and even death. Yet
people so constituted that they must gamble in the stock market would
probably be unsuccessful in any event in whatever else they undertook;
they are the world's weaklings, and their loss means little to the
world. Moreover, somebody must rule this country; that is our real
defence. Democracy is a farce, a failure, an idle dream. In any land,
there must be an aristocracy of brains. Therefore we rule, and on the
whole, I think, wisely. We permeate everywhere; we dominate
everything; Politics, Commerce, the whole domain of Trade, they are
all ours; we are the Country's uncrowned kings. Thus the market is
only one source of our revenue, though our most important source.
Without us, there would exist a state of chaos. For forty years, we
have averted panics; steered the nation through crisis after crisis;
our function is really that of a mighty balance wheel. In a word, we
do evil that ultimate good may come. Do I make myself clear?"
Atherton had listened, spell-bound. At last doubt had changed to
certainty; the picture was complete. "Yes," he answered, "I
understand."
"And now," continued Hamilton, "as to your position. By all the rules
of the game, you should have ceased to trouble us, two weeks ago. One
thing has saved you. Unfortunately for me, it appears that my daughter
cares for you. Though why," he added whimsically, "she could not have
fallen in love with someone else, is more than I can see."
Atherton flushed. "I know," he began, "I'm not in the least worthy of
her--" But the banker cut him short. "There, there," he said, "I
wasn't really serious. I believe you are a clean and honorable young
man--you have shown that in many ways--and I think I may offer you a
choice. You may take a subordinate place in our organization. It will
have many attractions. You will prosper; you will make money; you may
rise, if you possess the ability, even to the greatest heights of all.
But you will give your undivided allegiance. You will rid yourself of
all emotions of pity. You will see the lambs led to the shearing; you
will help to lead them there. But you will gain the pride of place,
and glory in the eyes of men."
Before Atherton's eyes swept a vision of the seething brokerage
offices, the eager crowds, the whirring, clicking tickers, the
dreamers of dreams that were destined never to come true. And
unhesitatingly he answered, "Mr. Hamilton, never again, as long as I
live, do I wish to see the inside of a broker's office; never again do
I wish to hear the opening bell, to see the tape begin to tell its
lying story. Let me be a poor man all my life; but let me do some
honest work, if it's no more than turning out bolts or nails on a
machine. Anything in the world but what you offer me."
The banker regarded him, apparently not displeased. "I will not say,"
he answered, "that you are unwise. We play a great game, but a
dangerous one. Our fortunes swell to the bursting point; labor watches
and threatens; the people are not blind; it is a condition which may
bring about its own cure. There may come revolution, death and
destruction--no man can tell. Therefore, you are perhaps wise to
choose the factory and the chance to rise through your own endeavors.
And that, I take it, is your choice."
"There is nothing," Atherton answered, "that I should like better."
"Very well," the banker responded, "but remember this." And as he
spoke, his voice became low and stern. "You have done me more than one
favor; I do you one now. But I consider that by doing so we are quits,
and more than quits. Forget what you have seen, what you have heard,
what you know. Think of it as a dream, dissolving into air. For if
ever in the future you breathe one word, one whisper, of what you have
learned, you are that moment a dead man, and mine will be the first
hand raised to strike you down."
Atherton, without flinching, returned his gaze, realizing as never
before the power of this vast order which ruled with such an iron
hand, and realizing, too, his own insignificance, his utter
helplessness, his inability to do aught else than to comply. "I give
you my word," he answered. "What I know is forgotten."
The banker rose. "Then the whole incident," he said, "is closed. I
wish you a speedy recovery, and now I think there is another visitor
waiting to see you, no doubt impatiently."
He left the room, and Atherton, wearied, for a moment closed his eyes.
A splendor of sunshine flooded the world without; an oriole in the
swaying elm filled the air with song. All things spoke of youth and
life and joy.
So softly did she enter that he did not hear her cross the room, and
it was only when he opened his eyes again that he knew that dream and
reality were one, and that before them lay the long, bright years, for
him and the girl he loved to traverse, side by side.
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