The human imagination, which responds easily to the narration of an immediate sorrow, is unable to comprehend that suffering which has no end, for the imagination of man is powerless before the stretch of time, which always surprises and mystifies it. Hence the difficulty of making comprehensible the agony of the seven years' waiting in which Sheila suddenly found herself; as though she had suddenly awakened in the embrace of a dungeon, forgotten and without hope. For man can conceive of the future only in the terms of the past, and if time, when reviewed, has the ironical property of amazing contraction, it has, when anticipated, according to the intensity of the desire, the illimitable power of extension with something of the mysterious cruelty of death,incessantly multiplied and incessantly possible.
What is seven years in the human life? In the past it is a breath, in the future it is eternal. In the memory it ceases to exist or stands only as a vague gap which one seeks bewildered and with a sense of loss. In the future, for the convict who awaits his liberty, for the genius who runs the streets unrecognized, for the lover and the heir, seven years stretches beyond the human vision and has something of the quality of eternal punishment.
Seven years to eat out her soul in patience, seven years to mortify unquenchable desires, seven years to contemplate the autumn of her youth arriving, to have all just beyond reach, to gain all just too late, and to suffer each day the pangs of a queen in exile—this was the aspect to the distracted woman of these inexorable seven years on the morning after the revelation of the lawyer. She had not realized it at once. She began to comprehend it in the morning after a night of agony.
When Bofinger returned the next afternoon he found her shattered and inert. She had passed from the horror of waiting to a recoil from the suffering she must begin, as a damned soul might shrink at the brink of the unending atonement. She did the natural thing. She refused to believe that Fargus could be dead. Then, as though to surrender the thought of the millions was as painful as to wait for the half of one, she found a wretched consolation in the hope that Fargus had found the mines and had pretended death, until by careful espionage he could satisfy himself that she was worthy.
Bofinger had his reasons for keeping her in ignorance of her legal rights. He did not inform her that she could apply to the courts for an allowance, for he wished to keep everything in his hands, fearing specially the danger of her falling into honest guidance. Two things he wished to avoid, her learning the value of her inheritance and, in his selfishness, her spending what would undoubtedly be a liberalallowance. To make more secure his hold he loaned her the sum requisite for her needs, twelve hundred a year, taking notes of acknowledgment at twelve months for double the amount, which by constant exchange he calculated to swell to usorious figures. Also it suited his precautions that she should be forced to live frugally and separated from the world, for he knew the dangers of her nature which, were the opportunity presented, would sacrifice everything for instant luxury. Without his suspecting it, one thing abetted his end. Sheila's account at the bank terminated with her first credit. Seeing that she refused, for some unaccountable reason, to surrender the hope of Fargus's return, he encouraged her in that persuasion, pretending also to fear some ruse of his eccentric nature.
For two years Sheila clung to this obstinate hope, and at times thereafter she returned to it desperately, but at the beginning of the fourth year she abandoned her dream utterly and resigned herself to despair, with the revolt ofone who can accuse but fate and sees herself the sport of some divine cruelty. In brief, as the history of such daily grief can no more be told than comprehended, six years passed and, amazed, she beheld the beginning of the last period.
She was entering then her forty-first year. With the six preceding years she had bidden a sullen farewell to the last of her youth and in this cruel martyrdom had watched day by day the imperceptible fading of her bloom, the dulling of her eyes until, doomed to impotently witness the fragrance and the warmth evaporate, she had come rebelling into middle age, having been beautiful, coquette, and pleasure-loving for nothing. What gave a mysterious horror to this period was the utter impossibility, when she sought back, to perceive even the traces of the journey.
At the beginning of the seventh year she awoke and shaking off all restraint began desperately to anticipate the arrival of her fortune. Bofinger, after a first resistance,seeing her resolved, advanced her the sums she required, surprising her by his generosity and good humor. At thirty-four she had looked upon forty as irrevocable. Now she said to herself that she had yet two years into which to crowd all the defeated longings of her youth. She flung madly into the vanities of luxury. She dismissed her maid of all work and installed a cook and waitress. She made a bundle, so to speak, of all her furnishings; replacing the carpets with oriental rugs, introducing into the dining-room a magnificent sideboard spread with silver. As for the parlor and bedroom, within six months they retained not an object of those treasures which had once seemed to her so luxurious and whose purchase had cost Fargus such pangs.
Each afternoon in a landau, which she rented by the month, prepared by her coiffeur, perceptibly rouged, a little puffy but always noticeable, she rolled away languidly to mingle in the parade of the avenue. In the evenings she lived from theater to theater.
Paradise, to this woman, was to be admired, envied, and coveted. She loved but two ideas, herself and the world. Her feminine nature had never sought the tribute of the individual—the woman who does that returns her love—but the admiration of the mass; an emotion entirely selfish and egoistical. In her appetite for admiration she made no discriminations, the meanest glances had the power of rendering her supremely happy. So each day, as she whirled along up Fifth Avenue and through the Park, she watched anxiously from the corners of her eye, counting the looks that followed her; thoughtful and pained when an old beau, who recognized her artifices, showed her to a friend with a knowing laugh, delighted when a young man, attracted by the mystery of woman's maturity, ogled her with supreme daring.
One consideration alone kept her in her modest neighborhood, a consideration human and quite feminine. Next to the joy of rubbing elbows with the fashionable world, sheprocured her greatest delight in the triumph over her neighbors, which she each day achieved as, perfumed and hidden in laces, she was handed into her carriage.
In this unsatisfied, false joy she ran through the last twelve months, eating up the savings of the lawyer, who continued meanwhile all suavity and good nature, calling on her three times a week, serving her in little ways, always agreeable and amusing, acting as her companion whenever it pleased her. Still she was not the dupe of his mildness, understanding very well its end. Only as a disagreeable situation to be met in the future she found it easier to banish the problem from her mind.
Thus arrived the end of January, and the day which brought to an end the seven years. At eight promptly Bofinger arrived bearing a bouquet. Time had not entirely overlooked him. He had turned slightly bald, the wrinkles had invaded every cranny, and his vest had generously rounded out. But despite such telltale evidence, he had not yieldeda jot of the dress of a young dandy. He wore a fancy shirt, thin red lines on a lavender background, upright collar of the same decoration. A flowing crimson tie passed through the loop of a large ruby ring, this last the memento of a gentleman who procured such trifles at considerably below their market value. A blue silk vest with a firmament of yellow stars was designed to give the touch of gaiety needed to a suit of ruddy brown cheviot.
Pending Sheila's arrival he waited in the parlor, heels clicked together, stiff legs, bouquet to his bosom, a speech on his tongue. Then, as this attitude began to cramp him, he relaxed, placed the bouquet on the table and stalked about the room, contemplating with his chin in his palm the display of Sheila's extravagance. Many thoughts doubtless passed through his mind, which he summed up by clicking to himself and saying with conviction:
"Damn, she'll take a lot of driving!"
Then instinctively the fingers of his lefthand tightened as one who already grips the reins.
Immersed in this reflection he did not notice Sheila's soft entrance. By a caprice, instead of making a toilette for the anniversary she had put on a plain dress of black, either to render herself less desirable or to appeal to his compassion. She stood a moment silently, her glance bent gravely upon him. Then, advancing with a smile, she said lightly:
"Heavens, Alonzo, youhavesomething on your mind!"
Bofinger, startled, turned about in haste, losing all his effect.
"Do you know what night this is?" she asked, stealing his thunder.
"I have come to congratulate you on your widowhood," he said hurriedly. "Is that why you have gone into mourning?"
"And are those flowers for me?" she asked with a gesture.
"Eh," he cried, and, turning clumsily, hastily presented them. To restore his equanimity hebegan to smoke, while Sheila, after touching the flowers of the bouquet one by one, finally laid them down on her lap and said:
"Do you know that, until a few months ago, I expected him to turn up at any moment."
"Well, at times I had the same idea," he said with a nod. "A sort of superstition. However, if the waiting was long it's over now. Sheila, own up, I haven't been a half bad fellow, have I? Have you any complaint coming?"
"No," she replied with a smile. "You have been easy on me; but I never thought that it was against your interests."
He frowned, and bringing out a package of notes said acridly:
"Do you know just how much I've loaned you? For seven years I've made you an allowance of $1,200 yearly, total $8,400. It may be interesting to note that it has been at a slight personal embarrassment. Beside which, in the last twelve months I have advanced you$4,800; to do which I have been forced to borrow heavily. Total, $13,200."
"Finish up the calculation, Alonzo," she said with a shrug, "and tell me just what you expect to make on your generous transactions. However, I don't object, virtue should be rewarded."
"About $32,000," he said promptly, "which is nothing considering the risks. Yet," he continued, placing the notes on the table before him with a significant movement, "I'll have something more to say about this later, then perhaps you will give me more credit."
An awkward moment succeeded, what each felt was the end of the skirmishing. It was the woman who finally resolutely went to the attack.
"Alonzo," she said, sinking back in her chair, "we might as well come to the point. I know very well what that is,—you intend to marry me. Well, let us talk it over and as friends. For our feelings have changed and, as I have become a middle-aged woman, Ilook at things differently. You have had your interests but you have been a good friend to me. So let's talk the situation over, as friends."
"Agreed," he said gravely; "but as we are going to be frank, Sheila, why, I may as well say now, we will be married day after to-morrow."
"Then let us discuss it on that basis," she said with a smile, into which she put all the indifference and weariness of middle-age. "What is the situation? You wish your half of Fargus's fortune; I don't flatter myself there is any other reason for our marriage. Well, you shall have it—freely. I won't hide from you that I did at first rebel. Now you have fairly earned it. But on the other hand I want my liberty. So take your share and leave me free. On your side, at forty-three, you are young. You will want to enjoy life, you won't want to do it with an old woman at your side. You love life, my dear Alonzo, and a wife twenty-five years old is what you need. Forme," she said with a tired smile, "I have come to what I never felt possible; I adore pleasure as much as ever, but I have no longer the strength. Yes, I must get used to being old. This last year has tired me dreadfully. It's over, money will no longer mean what it could have meant."
"And what will you do with it?" he asked solemnly.
"Me? I may make a splurge for another six months, for it is hard to give up. After which," she added with profound deliberation, "I think I'll devote myself to charity. Therefore, my dear Alonzo, don't tie up with a middle-aged woman when it isn't necessary."
"My dear Sheila," Bofinger said, adopting the same attitude. "What I am going to say will surprise you; I too have changed. No, I have not the same desires, the same enthusiasms I had seven years ago. I am not young at forty-three and to play it would make me ridiculous. A time for all things. Now I have other ambitions. But first of all I have gottento the point in life when a man gets lonely—wants to anchor somewhere."
"Heavens, Alonzo," she cried in vexation, "you're not going to make love to me now!"
"That would not be difficult, my dear Sheila," he said with an admiring glance, "though for some reason you have taken pains to-night to appear at your worst." And tilting his nose in the air, he enjoyed a smile at the expense of the woman, he had not studied in vain.
"What's the use, Sheila? You know it's settled. And when we get as far along as this scenes ain't agreeable. When we're married," he added, sweeping up the bundle of notes, "Sheila, my dear, you may make a bonfire of these without it's costing you more than the price of a match."
"But," she said suspiciously, "if that's been your intention why did you make me sign such agreements?"
"And supposing you had died," he said with a shrug. "What would have been coming to me? Nothing but the papers I held. Nowtell me I haven't been generous! And what's more, when we're married, you can choose. I'll take what's coming to me and leave you absolutely free—or—"
"Or what," she asked, at some wonder to hear him speak so soft.
"Or we can pull together. The property has improved, if we wanted higher stakes we could do much together. I'd go into politics; that's the way to invest your money to-day. Yes, Sheila, tastes change and new ambitions come. After forty only power satisfies a man. That is what I want. So, frankly, I should like a home. I feel I'd make a good husband and, Sheila, I shouldn't find it difficult to be proud of you!"
In listening to these soft words and seeing him so settled and phlegmatic, knowing the charity that comes with fortune, she had perhaps a moment during which she was willing to believe that he had really experienced a change of heart. So easily are we persuaded of the best intentions, when we fear the worst.
"But why," she asked after a thoughtful interval, "why is marriage necessary? There is no question of your half, that I promise you."
"My dear," he said with deprecatory candor, "I am too old to change my skin. I know I can trust you, now. Yet, to save my life, I couldn't help doubting it. It's second nature, you know. Seeing is believing, and holding is better. I'm made to risk nothing, to act as though I suspected everything. It ain't personal, Sheila—I can't help it."
She bit her lip and, driven to desperation, said angrily:
"But I don't want to marry you!"
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not in love with you."
"Were you with Fargus?" he said quietly. "It was a question of interest, wasn't it? Well, marry me and it'll be to your interest too. Such a man as I am, knowing the secret ways and who ain't squeamish, only needs capital. Knowledge without capital is what makes the shyster."
"However, you leave me free to choose?" she said.
"Perfectly."
"Then," she said decisively, seeking to provoke from him his true feelings, "since you won't trust me to pay, we'll be married and, as soon as you get your half, you'll arrange for a divorce."
"I regret," he said politely but with a ring of vexation, "that is not possible. In coming into possession of Fargus's estate you must give bonds for the principal until another seven years have elapsed. There also you will need my assistance."
"Then in heaven's name what do I get!" she cried, rising.
"Humph, you get the income," he said with a shrug, "which is tolerable—quite enough."
"Well, what?"
"Well," he drawled, looking askance at her, "somewhere around $50,000."
"A year?" she said faintly.
"Yes. The property must have bettered considerable—ought to fetch close on to a million now."
"And that, all that is mine!" she said, palpitating.
"All ours," he corrected, and his voice trembled a little, despite himself.
"And half of that won't satisfy you!" she cried.
"Two such halves are better than one," he said, then added hastily, "However, that lies with you. If you say it, it will be a marriage in form only."
"Let me think it over," she said, still under the shock of her surprise.
"Certainly," he answered, rising to depart. "You are perfectly free."
"Thank you."
"But," he added at the door, "be ready for the ceremony, day after to-morrow, at eleven in the morning. Good night. Think over the rest carefully."
Then she comprehended, what at the bottomshe had known from the beginning, that, despite all her resources, at the crucial moment he would always be her master, and in the matter of her fortune she would do exactly as he designed.
It is rare in the secret life of the city that they who live by preying on society are not themselves preyed upon. Alonzo Bofinger for a long while had been in the clutches of Sammamon, the money-lender. Without his aid he could never have maintained Sheila through her period of waiting. But, to obtain the necessary loans, he had been forced to take him into his entire confidence, paying, of course, the penalty in the usorious rates Sammamon greedily imposed.
Bofinger, indeed, had never lived on his income, but had used it to capitalize his debts, gambling always on a lucky future turn of the wheel of fortune. He frequented what are called "sporting circles," where in the company of jockeys and pugilists he wasentirely at home. He had the run of the second-class theaters and enjoyed specially the atmosphere of the wings and the little suppers after midnight where the gaiety was not conventional and the jests were unadulterated. He liked to splurge and, as a consequence, he was constantly floundering beyond his depth. Without losing either his heart or his head he had entered into an attachment with one of the actresses of these sham stages, a connection which flattered his vanity and gave him, he thought, the standing of a man of the world.
When, therefore, after the death of Fargus, he saw the future open before him with all the gratification of his desires, he threw all moderation to the winds, and having in a short while exhausted all his property, he had recourse to Sammamon, with whom he had had one or two previous understandings. His yearly income, about this time, was nearly cut in two by the withdrawal of Hyman Groll from the firm. Bofinger, already in debt, was astounded to learn that his quiet partner had alreadyaccumulated a capital of $50,000 with which he purposed to emerge into larger opportunities. But his chagrin was tempered by the delicious thought that, in a few years, he would be able to turn the laugh. To his annoyance, the dissolving of the partnership showed him, what he had scoffed at before, that with all the glamour and the applause he was only the voice where Hyman Groll had been the power. In a month he saw his prestige impaired, his alliances shaken, and found himself on the same footing with the half dozen lawyers who scrambled for the pickings of the court. All of which had sent him frequently and deep into the lair of Sammamon.
On the morning after his visit to Sheila, he started for the office of the money-lender to negotiate another loan, which he promised himself should be the last. A frightful run of luck at roulette had depleted him. Besides, he wished to make a handsome present to Sheila before their marriage, desiring above all things to keep her in good humor until the crucialmorrow was over. Also he had to appease the actress, and having no doubt as to the scene which would follow his announcement of the marriage, he knew that no small offering would suffice.
Not far from Hester Street, in the heart of the Ghetto, on the first floor of a tumble-down frame building, stooping with age, a dank office bore the sign,
Leopold Sammamon
Loans.
Bofinger, whose sensitive nose was offended by the smells of the quarter, lit a cigar, and entered.
The office, on the apex of a triangle formed by the junction of two streets, had an entrance on either side, so that those within seemed to be constantly buffeted by the two streams of humanity. Sammamon came hurriedly forward, a frail man not yet forty whose shoulders stooped as though still bearing the weight of the pack with which he had landed here twentyyears before. The body, without vitality, seemed held together by the one impulse of gain that burned in the eyes, which had the strange contradictory quality peculiar to his trade, all fierceness and intensity when examining a client, but wavering uneasily the moment they were subjected to the same scrutiny.
The two entered a cell which served as a cabinet and began to talk, with their foreheads together, both to overcome the noise of the street and to protect themselves against the sharp ears of the three clerks.
"Sammamon, I want two thousand dollars," Bofinger said directly, "two thousand dollars more and that's all, so help me God!"
"Where I get two thousand dollars?" the money-lender protested. "I am bankrupt now with your loans! Ain't the time up to-day—eh? Why you want more money?"
"I am going to marry the woman to-morrow," the lawyer said conciliatingly. "And I've got to hush another one up and do it handsome!"
"Where I get two thousand dollars?" Sammamon repeated with a shrug.
"See here," Bofinger said, tapping him on the knee. "Come to terms now and quit your mumbling. Darn you, you know very well you're making a good thing out of this. Give me the money and I'll sign for three thousand dollars at sixty days and I'll pay the rest then. It takes time to get the thing through the courts."
"I couldn't do it,—so help me! I couldn't do it, I couldn't get the credit, I couldn't get one other cent!"
"Three thousand dollars, Sammamon, at sixty days."
"Think of the risk! If anythings happen, I'm ruined!"
"Well, curse you, what will you do it for? Out with it!"
"I can't do it, Mr. Bofinker, I can't do it!"
"Three thousand five hundred dollars then."
"Imbossible!"
"Well, make your own terms—I'll sign anything."
Sammamon took his chin in his hands, and, after much shrugging of his shoulders and pursing of his lips, finally said, with a gesture that seemed to apologize to his ancestors for his moderation:
"Five thousand dollars at sixty days—not one cent less. And then I don't know where I gets the money."
"Make out the papers," Bofinger said curtly—and did not curse him until the money was safe in hand.
The next day having meanwhile procured the authorization of the courts, he was married to Sheila and went with her to live in her home; for Sheila, seeing there was no escape, and deciding to make the best of the situation, had feigned a willingness to accept his proposal.
Three days later, on a stormy morning, in the company of his wife Bofinger appeared in court to begin the formalities necessary to place Sheila in possession of Fargus's property. Sammamon, who trusted only his own eyes, occupied a distant corner where he listenedattentively, seeking unsuccessfully to conceal the agitation which the prospect of his future gains caused in him.
The judge, who, despite the monotony of his profession, kept an interest in the romances of the law, instead of proceeding with the routine of the case, assumed an ex-officio air and said:
"Ah, this is that extraordinary case of disappearance—a very extraordinary one, Mr.—Mr. Bofinger. In my whole experience I don't think I remember another case like this."
"Your Honor," Bofinger said, "I represent my wife, the party in pleading."
"You're a lawyer, then, Mr. Bofinger?" the judge said in some surprise. "I do not remember your name before."
"In fact, I have never had the pleasure of appearing before your Honor."
"And what was the last heard of this Mr. Fargus?"
"Seven years ago, the twenty-sixth of this month," Bofinger said, "according to the depositions I have here."
"Upon which date the lady was free to marry. You are not, therefore, an old married couple."
"Naturally, your Honor."
"I congratulate you," the judge said pleasantly, giving him a shrewd glance.
"It has been a long attachment."
"Quite so," the judge answered with a bow, "and now that your marriage is accomplished you are taking steps to gain possession of the property?"
"Your Honor states the case exactly," Bofinger said drily. "We are come to take the first steps to acquire possession of the property, subject, of course, to the bond which the law requires for another seven years; although it is sufficiently established that Max Fargus is dead."
"Who says that I am dead?"
At this extraordinary interruption every one in the court-room turned in astonishment.
In the back of the court-room a dark undersized figure had entered unperceived and supporting himself heavily on his cane, hadadvanced to the middle of the room, where a second time he cried:
"Who says that Max Fargus is dead?"
Then with an effort he removed his hat, revealing a face on which, despite a pallor of death, was the mocking sneer which one imagines on the face of Satan claiming the forfeit of a soul.
For a moment there was a tense silence. Then through the court-room the shriek of Sheila reechoed in terror:
"Fargus, Max Fargus!"
The sound of a thud followed as she slipped to the bench and pitched loudly on the floor.
"Your Honor," Fargus said, turning to the judge. "All I wanted to do was to establish my identity. That is done."
Bofinger had a moment of vertigo during which he committed two vital mistakes. The first was to remain sillily muttering over and over, "Max Fargus! Max Fargus!"; the second was in allowing his enemy to escape. When a moment later he recovered himself and rushedforth there was not a trace of the misanthrope to be seen, neither in the halls nor on the sidewalk, nor in the white, storm-swept street. A policeman told him that a cab had been waiting into which Fargus had tottered and driven off with a companion who had remained inside, concealing his features.
Great dangers, which in the physical world turn the coward at bay into the most dangerous of antagonists, often in the realm of the mind excite a similar phenomenon. Bofinger, before the shock of the revelation, remained but a moment confused and staring. The situation flashed over him,—he divined the conspiracy. Calling hurriedly to the policeman to have his wife sent home, he cleared the sidewalk with a bound and started on the trail of a car, hat in hand, his coat-tails lashing the frosty air. But half-way, meeting a hansom meandering towards him through the storm, he turned with a cry of joy and bounded into it, almost jolting the sleepy driver from his seat.
"Fargus's Broadway Oyster House!" heshouted. "Ten dollars an hour—drive like the devil!"
The hansom shaved the corner, hung a moment on one wheel and rocked up the street. In Bofinger there were two movements, a physical collapse, as he sank back inertly into the corner, and an acute nervous excitation of the mental faculties which, soaring above the surrender of the body, absorbed in a few minutes, with the compressed energy of so many hours, every detail of his perilous situation. His reflections, jumbled and rapid as a kaleidoscope, ran thus:
"Two thirds gone at a blow, two thirds of a million lost forever by his turning up! How in the devil did he manage it? The third, the third, the dower right! What will become of that? Can it be saved? What is the law? Does the second marriage forfeit the dower of the first, if the husband turns up? If so we are ruined. There's not a doubt in the world that there was a plot. Fargus planned it all out. What am I going to do? I must get hold ofhim—yes—or he'll disappear again. If he goes anywhere he'll go to one of his Oyster Houses to be recognized again. He must have discovered everything seven years ago, but how—not from me. From Sheila? She talked perhaps in her sleep, or he found her accounts and guessed the rest. If he got a clew he could have put a detective on it and everything would have come out. But what gave him his clew? Not me. Sheila? But she had no reason to ruin herself."
At this point he took his head in his hands and said desperately:
"I'm wasting time. What does it matter how it happened. That's not the point. Two thirds gone and only the dower right left—if it is left; why should it be left? The law is probably the other way. What am I going to do?"
All at once he sat up.
"I have it. Bring an action of conspiracy against Fargus with intent to defraud his wife of her dower rights. Hell, am I losing mywits! Of course. Desertion and conspiracy to defraud. Plain as day! But the devil of it is I must get hold of him. Oh, what a fool I was to let him slip away again! Anyhow I can get an injunction on the property this afternoon, at once. But first for Fargus!"
At the restaurant he found everything in bewilderment. An hour before, Fargus had entered, and after having been recognized by his old employees had departed.
"Oh, the scoundrel!" he cried, rushing out, "he has established his identity and has gotten off."
As he fled from the restaurant his shoulder was suddenly clutched and turning in alarm he beheld the greedy features of Sammamon, who, running out of the court-house at his heels, had caught the address flung to the cabman. The money-lender, panting and distracted, cried to him all out of breath:
"Where you going, Mr. Bofinker? What you going to do? What about my money?"
"Sammamon, you idiot," Bofinger cried withan oath, "don't stop me! I've got to have every moment. You fool, I'm not running away! If you don't believe it, get in there and go with me."
And half lifting him he pounced into the hansom, crying:
"To Fargus's Chop House, Broadway near Fortieth."
"You pay?" Sammamon cried menacingly as the hansom swung into its reckless course. The rapacious fingers instinctively closed over Bofinger's sleeve as he added aggressively: "How you pay now?"
"Sammamon, I've a mind to run you out of business!" Bofinger cried furiously. "Take your hand off me and let me alone! Can't you see I've got enough to think over."
"You pay?" the money-lender persisted doggedly.
"Damn you, of course I'll pay you!" Bofinger cried. "See here, we lose two thirds by that devil's turning up, but there's always the dower right which belongs to my wife,—a third,if you know enough law to know that. A third is a third of a million, and that's safe in real estate, where he can't convert it. You've got nothing to worry over."
"What you doing now?" Sammamon said, but half convinced.
"Trying to get hold of Fargus, of course," Bofinger said irritably, "before he can get away, to delay matters."
The hansom jerked to a stop, Bofinger rushed into the restaurant while Sammamon mounted guard at the door, heedless of the rush of snow. The lawyer quickly returned, having received another setback. Fargus had appeared and departed. With a last hope Bofinger drove to the Westside establishment, relapsing moodily into silence. The grim, persistent figure of the money-lender began to affect him with a foreboding of disaster. At the Oyster Parlors, the same story. Then Bofinger, abandoning any hope of surprising Fargus, returned to the hansom and cried savagely:
"To the Union Bank! Sammamon, where can I put you down?"
"No, no," Sammamon replied with a wily shake of his head. "I go too."
"Sammamon, I'll pitch you out!" the lawyer cried, exasperated.
"You pay? Where you get the money?" the money-lender said defiantly.
"Look here, will you get out!"
"I go too," Sammamon repeated.
Bofinger in a rage, stopped the cab, took the money-lender by the collar and deposited him roughly in the street, a move which later he was to regret. Then changing his mind he drove to the court where he had a warrant issued for Fargus's arrest as well as an injunction on the Union Bank on any sums standing in the name of Max Fargus. Returning to his office he hurriedly put himself in communication with his particular allies in the detective force, imploring them to ransack the city for a trace of Fargus.
Armed with his injunction he went next tothe Union Bank, where he had himself announced to Gilday, the president, whom he knew.
Lawrence Gilday was a small, dapper, smiling man, fastidious in his dress, with a general air of bon viveur, which deceived at first. The gamblers and politicians esteemed him greatly for his probity and confided in him without reserve. Thanks to this peculiar personality the Union Bank had built itself up a number of blind accounts, personal and political. To a few who were initiated, Gilday was recognized as the safe intermediary between the upper world of finance and fashion and the leaders of the under regions in the numerous secret occasions where these extremes desire to meet with mutual profit. Gilday, who never surrendered his position of quiet superiority, received Bofinger with quick circumstantial affability and said without rising:
"Well, Bofinger, what can I do for you to-day?"
"Mr. Gilday," Bofinger said, sitting downawkwardly and secretly admiring, despite all his agitation, the neat red tie which he could not have worn without its crying out to the street, "I've got an injunction here that I've got to serve on you immediately."
"Is it a personal matter?" Gilday said, frowning.
"No, no," Bofinger said hastily, "it's simply an injunction on the account of one of your depositors, pending the result of an action at law."
Gilday, divining that there was more in reserve, extended his hand, wondering under what scheme of blackmail the lawyer was now engaged.
"Well, what account is it?"
"The account of Max Fargus," Bofinger replied, "and you'll oblige me if you will notify your cashier at once."
"Have we such an account?" Gilday asked with a doubtful look, which Bofinger thought the perfection of acting. "Max Fargus? The Max Fargus I knew has been dead some time."
"Mr. Gilday," Bofinger said smiling, "I know everything. Besides there is no longer any need of concealment, as Max Fargus has chosen to show himself to-day."
"Max Fargus—the restaurant proprietor?" cried Gilday. "The man who was murdered in Mexico?"
Bofinger, with a shrug of his shoulders, said:
"I wouldn't ask you to break professional secrecy, Mr. Gilday, but I tell you everything has come out and concealment is no longer possible."
Gilday, who had rung, handed a slip of paper to the clerk, saying:
"Is there any such account? Mr. Bofinger," he continued, "I can assure you there is some mistake. Mr. Fargus I knew very well. We have heard nothing from him for many years."
"One question," said Bofinger: "Don't Fargus's restaurants bank with you?"
"There is no reason why I should not answerthat," the banker replied carefully. "Certainly they do."
At this moment the messenger returned, saying:
"The account of Max Fargus, sir, expired seven years and two months ago."
"And will you give me your word of honor," Bofinger said with a smile, "that Max Fargus has no account here under any other name? But that, of course, Mr. Gilday, I realize I have no right to ask. However—"
"One moment," Gilday interrupted, "it's true that I should not ordinarily answer such a question; but in the present case, I assure you that we have no dealings directly or indirectly with Mr. Max Fargus."
Bofinger shrugged his shoulders good-humoredly, as a man who does not hold a falsehood against another, and replied:
"And may I ask how you reconciled that with your statement that the restaurant account is still with you?"
"But what has that to do with Max Fargus?"Gilday asked with a trace of impatience. "The Max Fargus Restaurant Company is an independent firm."
"Since when?" Bofinger said, smiling at what seemed to him the successive blunders of the banker.
"Since seven years ago. I remember the transaction perfectly," Gilday replied. "A month before his departure Mr. Fargus sold outright his various restaurants, stipulating only that the name should be retained for eight years. Mr. MacGruder, a client of mine, bought the property, being only too glad to retain the name which has always been a guarantee with the public. For that reason the deal was a secret one."
"Mr. Gilday," Bofinger said sharply, thinking that the banker had abused his good nature long enough. "Do you forget the simple fact that no man can transfer his property without his wife's consent? To clear matters up, let me tell you now that I represent the widow of Max Fargus, and that she is my wife."
"Thank you, I am aware of such elemental law. I now repeat to you that Max Fargus sold out seven years ago—with the consent of his wife."
"Mr. Gilday, that is impossible!" Bofinger said, losing patience.
"Mr. Bofinger, I assure you, you are laboring under a misunderstanding. Mrs. Fargus, in my presence, gave her written consent willingly and, I may add, eagerly."
Bofinger looked at him, saw he spoke the truth and collapsed. Gilday sprang forward to ring, then, changing his mind, went quickly to the table and seizing a glass of water dashed it in his face. Bofinger, who had had a spell of vertigo, staggered to his feet with such an ashen face that Gilday even was moved to cry:
"In God's name, what is the matter?"
"I'm wiped out!" Bofinger exclaimed, and raising his fists he cried, "Oh, that devil!" Then controlling himself with an effort he asked, "Mr. Gilday, in the name of pity, tellme if you know to what bank Fargus transferred his money."
"Mr. MacGruder paid him with a check," Gilday said after a moment's reflection. "And on the following day Mr. Fargus drew out his entire account."
"Was he paid with a check?"
"In cash."
Bofinger, who thus lost his last hope of tracing the movements of Fargus, started to leave the room without quite realizing what he did or said, when Gilday retained him.
"But how is it possible," he said with a glance replete with curiosity, "that you knew nothing about this? Surely you are a partner of Hyman Groll?"
Bofinger shook his head.
"No—no, not for a long while."
"Ah," Gilday ejaculated, at once mystified and enlightened. Then he added, "Do you lose much?"
"Everything!" Bofinger answered, and disappeared.
Everything for him meant no longer the dreamed-of millions, nor the half, nor the dower right; but, so swiftly had the perspective narrowed, every cent he had in the world. He had entered the bank, thanks to his plan of suing for conspiracy, certain of retaining at least $300,000, sum substantial and not to be despised. He staggered out with everything swept away into certain bankruptcy, thinking only of one thing, to reach his bank and withdraw the two thousand and odd dollars he had deposited the day before.
Still another shock was reserved for him. At the wicket the paying teller refused to honor his draft, saying:
"Sorry, Mr. Bofinger, but I've been served with an order restraining me from paying anything over to you."
"In whose name?" he cried aghast, and at a loss to divine the direction of the blow.
"Leopold Sammamon."
He withdrew the check saying nothing, accepting the reverse dully, too bewildered notto imagine the finger of retribution, and yielding all at once to that superstitious dread which attacks the scoffer amid the blasts of disaster. At this moment he feared and believed in God.
Towards seven o'clock that evening Bofinger presented himself at the door of a large double-fronted mansion, in one of the side streets of Murray Hill. Since the morning he had eaten nothing. Hunger and fatigue had given him the appearances of an extreme dissipation. His feet burned with cold and from time to time, to resuscitate them, he plunged his hands in his breast. A fine bead of snow had risen on his clothes, fastened to his hair, and caked over the collar, which had rolled up on one side.
The butler, who came to his ring, viewing with disfavor this desperate figure, exclaimed:
"Be off now, we can't do anything for you."
Too miserable to resent the insolence, he took an attitude of supplication.
"This is Mr. Hyman Groll's, ain't it?" he said meekly.
"And if it is?"
"Tell him it's Mr. Bofinger, Alonzo Bofinger."
"Mr. Groll is out," replied the butler aggressively, "and he won't be back to-night."
At this moment, when Bofinger was in despair, a carriage drawn by a team rolled swiftly up and stopped before the house. The butler, leaving Bofinger, ran down to the step and helped out the short, overhung figure of Hyman Groll, to whom he gave his arm to assist up the steps.
In the disordered figure on the stoop the hunchback failed to recognize the person of his former dapper partner. He stopped and, with a questioning glance, said:
"Who is it? What do you want?"
"It's me. It's Bofinger," the lawyer said humbly, removing his hat. "I'm in trouble, partner, I've got to see you."
Groll twitched violently, and drawing backwith a start shoved the butler forward until his body interposed. Then after a moment of evident hesitation he said:
"Go in, I'll see you. Humphreys, take him into the library."
Bofinger, ushered by the astonished butler, was shown into a large room at the back where he remained deferentially, surveying the evidences of his associate's sudden rise in the world, at a loss to account for the cause.
In a moment Groll entered, stopped near the door, watched him, and in an almost defensive attitude said:
"Well, my boy, in trouble, eh? What is it?"
"Hyman, I'm done for!" said Bofinger, who at this moment reeled and fell into the chair.
"What's the matter with you, man?" Groll said, hobbling forward.
"I guess I'm weak," Bofinger said, passing his hands over his face. "I haven't had time to eat anything all day. Oh, what a day!"
Seeing that the case was urgent Groll rang, ordered some sandwiches and whisky, andpresently, as though reassured, came and sat near Bofinger, eyeing him doubtfully.
"Here, now, eat something and drink this," he said, pouring him out a glass. "Talk afterward."
"Hyman, I'm up against it," Bofinger said, shaking his head.
"You are, eh? You look it. What's the matter?"
"I'm cleaned out."
"Bankrupt?"
"Ten times over."
"Well, let's hear it."
"Hyman, I got over my depth," Bofinger said gravely. "And I don't know where I stand now. That's why I want your advice." He paused, drew a breath and continued with a jerk: "Ever hear of Max Fargus?"
"The restaurant man? Didn't he disappear somehow in Mexico?"
"Disappear—hell, yes!" Bofinger cried with an incongruous laugh. "Look here, I've got to make a clean breast to you. You won't holda little thing in the past against me, will you? You've done too well."
"Go ahead," Groll said with a nod. He settled in his chair and turned his glance on him; the same cold, emotionless scrutiny which Bofinger knew of old.
"When we were partners down by the old Jefferson Market," he began, withering somewhat under the look, "I struck the trail of Max Fargus by accident. He came to me to look up some girl he was in love with. I went over and struck a bargain with her and turned in a report that made the old boy marry her. Now, I'm making a clean breast," he added, faltering a little and dropping his glance. "I'm knocked out. You're at the top, you won't hold it against me, will you?"
"Go on—go ahead."
"I kept it from you—expecting to make a tidy bit out of it. I was to get half of whatever came to her."
"How much?"
"Half."
"You did well," Groll said with just a tinge of irony.
"Well!" Bofinger repeated with an oath. "I've acted like a fool throughout! And I thought myself so clever. Then I managed to work into the old fellow's confidence and everything went smoothly and I thought I saw a chance of doing something big. He must have been worth close to a million then."
"Go on—" said Groll as he stopped. "I'll ask you some questions later. Only what was the woman's name and who was she?"
"Sheila Vaughn or Morissey, a sort of third-rate actress," he answered.
The quick professional attitude of Groll recalled to Bofinger the traditions of their office. He forgot the personal note and lapsed into a technical voice, as he related the details of Fargus's departure, his suspicions, his discovery from Sheila of her husband's whereabouts, his tracing the miser to the scene of the hold-up, the fruitless efforts to discover the body and his return to Sheila with the news.
"You'll admit," he concluded doggedly, "That the situation was elegant. I had only to marry the widow to scoop in a fat fortune."
Groll raised a hand in objection.
"I mean, of course," Bofinger added hurriedly, "at the end of the seven years, which the law fixes. I can't get things straight to-night."
"Alonzo," Groll interposed with marked interest, "did you apply for a trust for the widow?"
"No, of course I didn't! That's just what I didn't want to do—then. I wanted to keep her in my hands to make sure of her, until I could marry her! Instead," he added, "I put up for her myself and got into the hands of that robber, Sammamon, doing it!"
Groll made a move as though to enter a question, and then relapsed, motioning him to proceed.
"As soon as the seven years were over and I could get the papers through I married thewidow. To-day we went into court to begin proceedings for the possession of the estate—and Fargus turned up from the grave!"
"The devil you say!"
"But that's not all, he got away again," he said shamefacedly, "after we had both lost our heads and recognized him! And I haven't had a sign of him since then, though I've put the whole force on his track."
Groll emitted a whistle, which to him was an enormous concession.
"It was a conspiracy of course," Bofinger said sullenly. "Damn him! He planned it out—must have got on to our game somehow. That meant two thirds swept away."
"Why only two thirds?" interrupted Groll.
"There was her dower right, wasn't there?" Bofinger replied, doubtfully. "Surely the law would give her that?"
"I'm not sure of that," Groll objected. "There might be a question there."
"Well, anyhow, if it didn't, I had a plan to save it all right."
"Indeed," Groll said with interest. "How so?"
"I had a warrant sworn for him on a charge of desertion, complicated by conspiracy to deprive his wife of her dower rights. That is clear enough."
"Possibly—possibly yes," Groll said after a moment's drumming on his chair.
"Ah, but the worst is to come!" Bofinger said bitterly. "When I went to attach the property, I found Fargus had sold out everything seven years before!"
"But—"
"With the consent of the woman, of course! Gilday of the Union Bank told me he saw her give her consent himself!"
"The woman played crooked then—or they fooled her," Groll said softly, looking at Bofinger, who bent his head and bit his lips with repressed fury. "Then here's the situation," he began. "You can't get hold of Fargus, no property to attach, and you're in the clutches of Sammamon? How much do you owe him?"
"Over twelve thousand and he has attached all I had in the bank. That's the worst of all!"
"He was quick about it."
"He was slinking around the court, damn him, when Fargus turned up."
"Have you any other property?"
Bofinger took out a few bills and small change, saying:
"That's what I'm worth to-day. Not a cent more; I had banked all on that."
"So you're cleaned out?"
"Gutted!"
"Alonzo," Groll said, "you're in a bad way. Now I want to put some questions to you."
Bofinger nodded.
"I wanted to get things clear in my head. The woman, of course, has been the weak point. What were your relations?"
"Dog eat dog."
"You tried keeping her under by scaring her, then?"
"Yes."
Groll shook his head.
"A mistake, Alonzo. You ought to have made love to her. You can only bully a woman that way. Fear won't hold them! So she was sullen all the time?"
"Yes."
"Then she didn't want to go into the arrangement."
"You bet she didn't."
"It was a hold-up, then?"
"Yes."
"But how could you hold her after she married Fargus?"
Bofinger, in his misery, related without a gleam of pride what had once seemed to him a master stroke.
"I made her sign a common-law marriage with me, had it witnessed, and told her if she squealed I'd produce it and claim her."
"Alonzo," Groll said with a nod of approval, "you've had hard luck."
"Luck! I've been up against a fiend; that's what!"
"That idea of a common-law marriage wasclever," Groll said musing. Then he added carelessly, "You squeezed that paper tight!"
"It ain't been out of my safe a moment."
"Now tell me why you didn't investigate the property?"
"I did—every bit of it, Hyman, right after the marriage." Bofinger said with a curse. "How was I to know that she'd given her name!"
"You ought to have looked it up again," Groll said, shaking his head.
"What was the use? I thought it was safe."
"You were wrong, Bo."
"Oh, of course! I know it."
"So you never suspected that she'd signed a paper?"
"Never!"
There was a pause until Groll took up evenly:
"Well, Alonzo, you want facts. Here they are. To begin, there's no doubt that this fellow Fargus got on to your game. He's planned the whole thing to revenge himself on you two, that's plain. He took his precautionsin selling out, but fooled you by concealing the sale."
"Yes, that's plain."
"As to your case for conspiracy and desertion," Groll said reflectively, "all right, if you catch him. But by this time he's off and to run him down means money—a lot of it. When you find him he may be somewhere where you can't touch him. Of course he hasn't left a cent, here, for you to get at."
"No, damn him!"
"Now the point with you is where do you stand?"
Bofinger looked at him, waiting, as a man who knows there can be no favorable answer.
"Well, Alonzo, here's the truth. He's broken you! You owe twelve thousand to Sammamon, who'll get everything you have in the bank. What do you hold in notes on the woman?"
"About thirteen thousand," replied Bofinger, who was too ashamed to mention the higher figure.
"So much waste paper! Has she any debts?"
"I don't know—a thousand or two, perhaps."
"An interesting point might come up there," Groll said musing. "Whether you are liable for her debts. A husband is liable for the debts of the woman he marries. Though it don't make any difference; you'll go into bankruptcy."
"Oh, I'm knocked out!" Bofinger said, biting his lips to keep back the weak tears.
"Yes, Alonzo, you are," Groll said. "Haven't you got anything you can save?"
"Not a thing."
"Hasn't the woman any jewels? Get them if you can, but make sure first that they are free of debt, if you don't want to get in worse trouble."
"You're right," Bofinger said, starting up. "I'll get hold of them before Sammamon can put his claws on them."
"If I were you," Groll said softly as they went to the door, "I think I'd have an understanding with the woman. She's the one who's done you."
"I'll attend to her!"
"Nothing rash, Alonzo," Groll said with more curiosity than feeling. "You won't do anything rash?"
"Rash!" Bofinger cried with a wild laugh. "Oh, no! Nothing rash!"
And leaving Groll in profound meditation on the stoop he plunged down the steps, no longer caring for the cold or the storm.