CHAPTER XIXWhen the next day Beecher reached his club he found all discussions centered upon John G. Slade and the astonishing and incomprehensible outcome of the conference at Gunther's of which naturally only the usual misinformation was known. The morning papers had contained a reassuring statement, backed by powerful names, of the condition of the Associated Trust, with promises of support. Gunther had publicly announced that he would bring twenty millions of ready money to relieve the financial stringency and, if that were not sufficient, twenty millions more. When the man in the Street comprehended that the great fortunes of the country had authorized this step, the effect was instantaneous. The stock market opened with loss of two to three points and immediately recovered this decline and, for the first time during the week, registered distinct advances. The runs on the banks still continued, but the lines of depositors were apparently less. At eleven o'clock Rupert V. Steele visibly entered the offices of the Associated Trust and, advancing to the deserted window of the cashier, made the first deposit. In a minute it was publicly announced that five millions of dollars had just been deposited to the credit of the great Columbus National. Half of the waiting line, wavered, turned and went home."Well, Slade's turned the trick," said Gunther, joining his friend. "But how he managed to wriggle through is a mystery.""Haven't seen the papers," said Beecher. "What do they say about Emma Fornez?""Couldn't be better. The third act bowled 'em over," said Gunther, laughing. Beecher had told him of the diva's prophecy. "By the way, Ted, my long shot may not prove such a wild one. Mapleson is a close friend of the Cheevers—rather attentive to the lady, who from all accounts is a rather frisky one. I telephoned McKenna about it and he seemed distinctly interested.""McKenna?" said Beecher, opening his eyes."Well, yes," said Gunther, laughing; "but forget I told you. Besides, I have a feeling that things will open up now.""Is McKenna on the trail of any one?""Well, yes," said Gunther slowly; "and I don't think it'll be long now before we hear of him. How about lunch?"At this moment a boy arrived with summons for Beecher to the telephone. He did not recognize the voice immediately."You don't know who it is?" said a woman.He thought he recognized the tones of Miss Rivers, whom he had shamefully neglected in the excitement of the last days; but, warily, he did not commit himself."You're disguising your voice," he said cautiously."Not at all. You are not very flattering—but when one listens so much to the voice of Emma Fornez—""Miss Charters," he said instantly."At last."He was suddenly troubled at the discovery, for he had sincerely persuaded himself that he did not intend to see her again."She is going to reproach me," he thought uneasily, "for not returning to see her last night. The devil! Well, I shall tell her the truth—I didn't like her companion."But instead of reproaches she said in very good humor:"Look out, I can be very jealous. What are you doing tonight?""I am dining out," he said, fibbing promptly, determined to remain firm."Oh—I'm sorry," she said, with a quick dropping of her tone. "I wanted you to take me to a dress rehearsal that will be very amusing.""I'm sorry too.""What are you doing this afternoon, around tea time?""I have an engagement," he said truthfully."With Emma Fornez?""Yes.""I am not very lucky, am I?" she said.The wounded tone in her voice made him feel a bit ashamed. He saw that she would not ask him again and relented a little."Will you be in at four? I can drop in for a little chat then," he said, amazed at his own yielding even as he spoke the words."Come then. I want very much to see you," she answered but without lightness."Now I'm in it again!" he said ruefully as he left the telephone. "What the deuce made me say I'd go. Just because I didn't want to hurt her—O Lord! Steady, old boy, steady!"Outside the booth he found Gunther, an afternoon's paper in his hand, scanning it with excitement on every feature."I say, Ted, here's news indeed," he cried. "What do you think of that?"He pointed to the headline on the front page where the engagement of John G. Slade to Mrs. Rita Kildair was announced in large type. The two young men looked at each other in profound astonishment."By Jove!" said Beecher, suddenly enlightened. "That's what was at the bottom last night! Now I understand." In a moment he comprehended the full measure of the agony of uncertainty she must have suffered at his side in the returning automobile. "So that was her game after all!""Now things'll begin to move," said Gunther eagerly. "If she really knows who's the thief, as McKenna believes, the ring ought to be returned in forty-eight hours.""Why?""Because now that she is publicly engaged to Slade, any one who has been trading on the knowledge of how she got the ring won't have a shred to blackmail her with. You see it now becomes the engagement ring that Slade gave her and she can move openly; and from what I've seen of her, she'll lose no time. Ted, I'll prophesy in forty-eight hours we'll hear something about that ring.""I believe you're right," said Beecher as they went into luncheon; and, thinking of the curious conjunction of Mrs. Kildair's and Miss Charters' prophecy as to the return of the ring, he said to himself unwillingly: "If the ring is returned, does that mean that Mrs. Bloodgood took it?"A little after four he went to pay his call on Miss Charters and as he had become accustomed to her perplexing change of moods, he wondered in what temper she would receive him. She was in a Russian blouse of gray corduroy relieved by a broad lace collar and fitted loosely to her straight, lithe body by a belt at the waist, an effect of girlish simplicity, very yielding and artless.She did not wait for him in the sitting-room but came out into the hall, taking his hat and stick herself and leading the way. Once in the cosy sitting-room she stopped, turning to face him and suddenly taking his hands in hers."Let me look at you," she said, drawing off and raising her eyes to his thoughtfully, while her lips twisted a little into a most serious sternness."Little imp!" he thought grimly, prepared against her wiles and yet a little startled at this figure of a young girl which so tantalizingly confronted him.She saw at once, in the amused composure of his face, that she had been mistaken in ascribing his absence to the pique of jealousy. What she had on her lips she did not say, and suddenly alert at the realization that her presence no longer troubled him she drew him toward the fireplace, leading him to a great armchair."There," she said, laughing, "you will see how we treat the prodigal son. Sit down." She brought a cushion and insisted upon placing it behind his back. "Don't get up. A scotch and soda? Sit still—I like to mix it."She went to a table and presently came back with the tumbler, offering it to him with a well simulated attitude of submission. When he took it, she dropped a curtsey and going to the library table, returned with a box of cigars and the matches. Continuing always the same game, determined to force a laugh, she lit the match, holding it to him between her rosy palms."Is your lordship satisfied?""I am."She lit a cigarette in turn and camping down on the bear rug, Eastern fashion, puffed a ring of smoke in the direction of the fire. For a moment neither spoke, she studying the embers, he enjoying this new side to her and awaiting the next development."I'm very unhappy," she said at last, without looking at him."I'm sorry," he answered sympathetically."I have had a great disappointment. I read that play of Hargrave's again—there's nothing to it.""You surprise me."The fact was that Brockway, Stigler's stage director had torn it to pieces. She continued, repeating what Brockway had said:"The trouble is, it's not actable. It's like all plays that read well—I should have known it. There's no dramatic action. Then, it has one great fault—all young writers have it—you see, every scene should be a unit in itself, express one dramatic emotion, develop it, and increase it; and Hargrave puts three or four emotions in the same page—five or six," she continued indignantly. "It's all mixed up—topsy-turvy—no actress could make an effect." (This had been its chief merit two days before.) "It's very sad; I shall never find a play.""You were very enthusiastic a few days ago," he said."Was I?" she said resentfully. "You see, the trouble is, in reading you imagine things that aren't there.""So Hargrave isn't a genius after all?" he asked."He is very conceited—insufferably so," she said abruptly. "But you don't understand—it's the disappointment to me—I shall never find a play. Sometimes I feel like giving it all up. It's terrible—breaking your heart day after day. Yes, sometimes I feel like never acting again.""You are in a blue mood," he said cheerfully."Everything has gone wrong," she said, pouting. "Even you have changed!"She looked at him with a look of a tired child, longing to climb into his lap to be consoled."How so?" he said, opening his eyes."Teddy, have I offended you?" she asked gently, seeing that she could not unbend him by playing upon his sympathy."Not the least."She would have preferred any answer but this."Why wouldn't you go with me tonight?" she said quickly."Because I have another engagement," he said, instinctively glancing at the clock.She saw the look, sprang up from the rug furiously, and leaping toward the mantelpiece seized the offending clock and flung it across the room in a tantrum."Go to your Emma Fornez!" she said, stamping her foot. "If you are going to sit here and measure the minutes, you can go!"He rose, startled at the passion of jealousy he had aroused."I told you I had an engagement," he began."Nonsense!" she burst out, still the prey of her anger. "You know very well you can keep her waiting half an hour if you wish, and you know very well that you can put off your engagement to-night—or is it with her, always with her?""I don't care to discuss my engagements," he said coldly, an emotion which he was far from feeling, for the sudden wild-eyed fury into which he had plunged her awoke in him something that thrilled him, as he had been thrilled the day he had returned Mrs. Bloodgood to her home, at the thought of what a consuming passion might be."Why do you tag around with her?" she continued heedlessly. "I should think you'd have more regard for your dignity—for what people think—Emma Fornez—ah!"She stopped, pressing her handkerchief to her eyes and then, feeling he had perceived it, she exclaimed: "If I cry it's because I am disappointed—disillusionized—angry!"She turned her back and went quickly to the window where the little Dresden clock lay shattered in a corner. She picked it up and looked at it, swallowing her anger. Then, as he continued to keep the silence, she came back, without looking at him, placed the clock on the mantelpiece again and said coldly:"Well, it is time for you to go—not to keep her waiting.""Good-afternoon," he said with a bow, and left the apartment.When he reached the street, he was overcome with surprise."By Jove!" he said, swinging joyfully along. "Is it possible after all that she does care about me? How her eyes blazed—the little fury. That at least wasn't acting!"And though he remained until late, amused at Emma Fornez, he felt the flame of the other presence about him, obtruding itself at every moment; and he who had seen the play of strong emotions in Mrs. Bloodgood and Mrs. Kildair, avidly began to feel what it would mean to be loved with such intensity.Emma Fornez questioned him about Miss Charters but for the first time he resolutely concealed from her what had taken place.That night on his return to his rooms, he found a short note from Bruce Gunther:DEAR TED,Be at McKenna's offices to-morrow—ten sharp. Something doing.B.P.S. Keep this to yourself—savez?CHAPTER XXDEAR TEDDY,I am very much ashamed at what happened yesterday. Please forgive my ill-humor and some day, when you have a spare hour, do come to see me.Very cordially your friend,NAN CHARTERS.This note was the first which Beecher read on awakening the next morning. He had slept by fits and starts, troubled by the memory of his last interview with the young actress. The sudden unchecked tempest of jealousy and anger which had revealed to him the dramatic intensity of the woman had made a more haunting impression on his imagination than all her premeditated appeals."If after all she does love me? How tremendous it would be," he had said to himself a dozen times, turning restlessly, in the half stupor of waking sleep.He lived over again the scene—only this time it seemed to him that when she had flung the clock from her in a passion, he had laughed joyfully and caught her struggling in his arms, exulting in this rage which burned so close to him. His first impulse on reading her note was to telephone her immediately, but he resisted this movement, saying to himself that that would be surrendering all his advantage."I'll call up later," he thought with a smile; "that will be much better."He went eagerly down to McKenna's office, wondering what surprise was in store. Gunther and McKenna were already in the latter's private office, as he entered, and with the first look he took at the detective's smiling countenance, he perceived that he must be on the track of something significant."We were discussing Mrs. Kildair's engagement," said Gunther. "McKenna agrees with me that it will expedite matters wonderfully.""How did Slade manage it?" said Beecher at once.The detective, without answering, went to his desk and picked up a square of cardboard on which he had pasted two clippings from the newspapers, one the announcement signed by Gunther, Sr., Marx and Fontaine, giving notice of their support of the Associated Trust, and the other the bare announcement of the prospective marriage of John G. Slade and Mrs. Rita Kildair."I am going to preserve this and hang it up over my mantelpiece," he said, looking at it thoughtfully, "and when I have an idle hour, I'll stretch out, smoke up and study it. A couple of million people must have seen that—and that's all they'll ever know.""And you?""I can only—deduce," he said, a twinkle in his eye. He glanced at the clock and said hurriedly: "Now we must get down to business. I am expecting some one in half an hour who ought to particularly interest you.""You know who took the ring!" said Beecher instantly."I know several things," said McKenna briskly; "but everything in place. I promised you gentlemen, as you are interested in those things, a little history of the party that was at Mrs. Kildair's that night. It's nothing as literary style goes—just facts. Here it is. I'll skip the personal descriptions."He took up a bundle of notes, seated himself on the corner of the flat desk, and began to read:"Cheever, Stanley: Age 48; married; old New York family; left a fortune estimated at $425,000, at the death of his father, Ganet Cheever, when he was twenty-eight. Lived ten years abroad, principally London; inveterate gambler; lost heavily at Monte Carlo—sum estimated at $125,000; later became involved in a gambling scandal in England, but it was hushed up by his payment of a large sum to cover notes given. Continued to lose heavily at St. Petersburg, Baden and Paris; began borrowing large sums, meeting obligations with difficulty. Declared bankruptcy in Colorado, where he had gone to promote a mine; his statements contested by creditors who brought suit; contest settled out of court by payment by his relatives to avoid a family scandal. Returned to New York and engaged himself as an exploiter of well-known wine merchants. Married three years ago Lydia Borgen, daughter of a large importing grocer, who brought him $100,000. Lives at rate of $20,000 a year. Only known occupation gambling; said to have won fifty-five thousand dollars in three nights' play from Kane Wentworth and Thomas Haggerty, Jr.,—protested but paid. Method of play has occasioned numerous reports to his discredit. Accused operating a system of private signals with his wife, by Mrs. Elmer Jardine after scene at card-table; brought suit for libel against her and received $12,000 damages out of court to compromise it. Is not received in home of father-in-law. Cut off by mother's will. Frequently quarrels with his wife over the attentions of other men. Known to have applied unsuccessfully at several banks within the last month to raise loans. Heavily speculated on long side of recent market, purchasing large block of stocks, margined, on morning after theft of ring, and said to be heavily involved. Sought aid of wife's relatives day before yesterday; refused."Cheever, Mrs. Lydia: Born Lydia Borgen, daughter Harris Borgen, German immigrant, who married Lydia Foley, waitress in Pearl Street restaurant. Father made fortune in grocery business, establishing with brother in South America a large importing office dealing in cocoa, coffee, and fruit. At death of uncle, Lydia became heir to $100,000. Father said to be worth three quarters of a million, but estranged from daughter, whose marriage he opposed. As a young girl Lydia, rebellious and wild, constantly involved in escapades, notably with an actor, James Rocker, with whom she attempted to elope and go on the stage. Kept under strict surveillance, but at age of seventeen ran off with Charles Bourgoyne, young English groom at Waltby's riding academy. Pursued and arrested just as about to be married in New Jersey. Bourgoyne arrested for abduction but later paid to leave country. Married at nineteen to Stanley Cheever, through mediation of mother and a Mrs. Dorgan, notorious marriage broker. Has become tool of husband in schemes of raising money while leading a separate existence. Keeps private bank account unknown to husband. Very extravagant in personal expenses which cannot be accounted for on known income. From beginning of married life has been conspicuous for her relations with other men, generally wealthy bachelors, who have subsequently lost money at cards: names best known, Edward Fontaine, Reginald Forrest, Thomas Haggerty, Jr. At present seen frequently with R. G. Mapleson of firm of Sontag & Co.—""Mapleson!" said the two young men in a breath."I know what you mean," said McKenna, raising his hand. "Wait till I get through"; and he continued to read in his matter-of-fact, unemotional voice these pages of hard, glaring facts that left his hearers straining forward to catch every word:"At present deeply involved in affair with E. V. Garraboy. Seems to have been introduced to the broker at desire of husband, to obtain through this channel information which his sister, Mrs. Enos Bloodgood, may have acquired from B. L. Majendie of financial affairs in general and particularly Atlantic Trust. Acquaintance developed into violent passion for Garraboy by Mrs. Cheever; has met him frequently of late, twice having been followed to his apartments. Of late, scenes with husband have been increasing in violence, coupled with mutual threats—believe rupture possible."Item: Bills against Mrs. Cheever known to be outstanding include $13,800 to Sontag & Co., for jewels; $1,200 to Madame Cortin for hats, etc.; $8,300 to Friegel Bros., robes."Item: The $100,000 she inherited, stands in her own name, but is believed to be now reduced to $75,000. Morning after theft of ring, sold short through Garraboy, her broker, 5,000 shares Union Pacific. For further details, see Garraboy."Charming little domestic circle, eh?" said McKenna, laying down the sheet. "Now for another:"Bloodgood, Enos R.: Owner New YorkDaily Star; large holder of real estate in lower New York; director Metropolitan Opera; brought up, at death of his parents, by his grandfather, Joseph Bloodgood, president of the Northwestern Railroad, as his prospective heir. At age of 20, despite threats of his guardian, left college and married Charlotte Granby, daughter of his tutor. Promptly disinherited. Went to work as a clerk in Brooklyn drygoods store, living on twenty-five dollars a week, refusing all overtures from grandfather, who offered to forgive him on condition of separation from his wife, allowing her $20,000. Refused and lived in that condition for five years until her death, brought on by privations. Reconciled with grandfather and sent abroad for a journey through Europe. Two years later became violently infatuated with a Spanish singer of the Café Chantants and went with her on a trip to South America, again defying his guardian. At the end of a year, affair ended by a secret payment made by his grandfather to the woman to procure her desertion. Followed her and engaged in duel with her companion, from whom he received serious wounds. After recovery, returned to Paris, where he again became entangled in violent infatuations. On point of marrying an Austrian countess of doubtful history, fell ill with pneumonia and almost died. Returned to New York and became reconciled with grandfather. Seemed to turn over new leaf; entered journalism and made good record for steadiness and conservatism, leading exemplary life. Grandfather, in his will, however, contrary to expectations, cut him off with $20,000. Two months later, married Mrs. Georgiana Wakeman, fifteen years his senior, fortune estimated at ten millions, widow of former owner of N. Y.Star, which then passed under his control. Next ten years remarkable for his strict application to business and the dissoluteness of his private life. Mixed up in several promoting schemes with various success. At death of second wife, received bulk of fortune. Remained widower three years, greatly increasing fortune at period of Trust consolidations. Married third wife, Elise Garraboy, noted Southern beauty, no fortune. Union unhappy after first months; returned to his old habits. Three months ago forced to pay $15,000 to prevent blackmailing suit on part of a Miss Edna Rusk, chorus girl. Plunged heavily on short side of late market in a pool formed to bear market; reputed to have made immense gains."Item: Has been in confidential relations with Miss Maud Lille for some time. Visited her early morning, after theft of ring.""That's queer," said Gunther, startled at this final detail. "Did Bloodgood do anything in the market that day?""Sold right and left," said McKenna, exchanging papers.Beecher, more impressionable than his companion, said nothing, overcome by the bare recital of this brutal, materialistic life that once had been young and stirred to unbelievable sacrifice."Bloodgood, Mrs. Enos: Born Elise Garraboy; sister of Edward Garraboy; old Southern family, New Orleans; father Colonel Marston Garraboy; died when children were little. Mother married Boyd Hallowel, Englishman, third son Lord Carmody, came to live in New York. Hallowel died ten years later, leaving her with small income but social connections. Elise educated at convent; made début in society at age of eighteen; great beauty; numerous suitors; engaged in second season to Enos Bloodgood; engagement broken; married a year later. Story current, forced into it to save mother from bankruptcy. Left husband twice in first two years, but persuaded to return by mother. Met Bernard L. Majendie eight months ago at Palm Beach. Infatuation no secret; understood that two weeks before panic had placed her interests in hands of lawyers, who procured evidence for divorce; action halted temporarily. Night of party at Mrs. Kildair's, trunks packed for journey, tickets purchased at Grand Central to Montreal. Day after, made no investments in Wall Street. Following day, left home with trunks and returned shortly after suicide. Violent scenes with husband. Shut herself up in room for hours. That night went to home of Majendie, company with—"Suddenly McKenna stopped at a violent movement of surprise from Beecher, and said quickly, "—a woman and a young man. Said to be totally without funds; husband reputed to allow her only $120 a month pocket-money. That's all."Gunther had been quick to see the agitation of his companion but, since he comprehended that whatever the part he had played Beecher wished to keep it in confidence, he pretended to have understood nothing."Then there is no trace of Mrs. Bloodgood's having gone into the market?" he said."None," replied McKenna. "There are other details, but they come better under head of the brother."He shuffled the remaining sheets and then, as though divining the unease of Beecher, he said in a matter-of-fact tone:"Here's the history of Miss Nan Charters; but as it gives us nothing important we don't know, I'll leave it out. Particularly as we're short of time. However, I'll say this—there is no record of any stock transactions except that which we know of already. The next is Miss Maud Lille, a curious character, too."Beecher drew a long breath and relaxed in his chair, grateful to McKenna for his consideration."Lille, Maud," said the detective, reading. "Real name Margaret Case; daughter Rev. Hiram Case and Fanny Saunders, Zanesville, Ohio; left home at age of sixteen; studied one year to be trained nurse; left hospital and studied stenography; later joined traveling circus, business department; became press agent. Stranded in northern Arizona; earned living by writing for local newspapers under name Jane Anderson; went to San Francisco and from there to Honolulu, supporting herself by her writings, occasionally taking regular position as stenographer. In Hawaii met and married an eastern adventurer known under name of Edward Bracken; returned with him to San Francisco, where couple engaged in mining speculations. Husband pursued for fraud and fled; wife arrested but released. Went to Chicago after securing divorce and changed name to Maud Lille. Sent to Cripple Creek by ChicagoWorldand made a hit by her graphic accounts of labor conditions. Married Patrick O'Fallon, wealthy mine owner. Went with him for trip in Europe but apparently dissatisfied with life left him and returned to newspaper work, establishing herself in New York. Not divorced. Under own name author of several successful novels; prefers Bohemian existence of journalist evidently, reporting prize-fights, political conventions, murder trials, etc. Attached to staff of New YorkStarand apparently much in confidence of owner. Lately much interested in stock market. On morning after theft met E. V. Garraboy at Levere's restaurant, near home, before breakfast; returned to her apartment and saw Enos Bloodgood two hours later. Reported sold short 500 shares Union Pacific.""By Jove," exclaimed Beecher as Gunther rose excitedly to his feet, "you've got it!""Maud Lille took it first and transferred it to Garraboy," said Gunther, then he stopped, puzzled; "but Bloodgood—that's incredible!""Hold in your horses," said McKenna, shaking his head with silent laughter, delighted, in fact, that they had fallen into his trap. "There's one more little history to read." He hesitated and then said: "Now, I don't want to play up to a little tin god on wheels, though that's easy enough. I'll say this, that a good deal of the information I am reading you I have had in hand. The gentleman whose bright little history I am going to read you, I have had my eyes on for some time. That'll develop."Garraboy, Edward V.: Sent to military training school; expelled; went up north, boarding-school; expelled; tutored for college and went to Harvard; ran up debts to extent of over a thousand dollars in two months, signing promissory notes. Paid by stepfather, who withdrew him at the request of college authorities; cut off by family and sent to Chicago with four hundred dollars to enter business house. Instead, speculated in wheat market and said to have made a little money. Went to Denver with small capital and posed as son of wealthy parents. Made acquaintance of a family called Sanderson and shortly became engaged to daughter, heiress to considerable fortune. Engagement broken as result of investigations. Left Denver, leaving behind a number of debts and bad checks. Next, heard of in southern California, working in mine; got in shooting affray over daughter of Mexican and went into British Columbia. Used many names. Spent a year in small stock companies playing little rôles; made a lucky gamble in silver mine and went to San Francisco, living high. Went to Seattle; became engaged to a widow of large real estate manipulator; persuaded her to invest her money in land exploitation scheme in southern California which proved failure. Ran away from Seattle and went to Hawaii to sell imitation jewelry under name of Edward—""Bracken!" exclaimed the two young men in one breath."Exactly.""Married to Maud Lille!" cried Gunther, the first to recover his astonishment. "Why, the little toad! How the deuce did these women fall for him?""Oh, that's a question by itself, Mr. Gunther," said McKenna, smiling. "It's a good deal in studying what you're dealing with, and Garraboy watched them pretty close. Let me finish."Came to San Francisco, as you know; fled to escape pursuit; changing name, shipped as clerk on a merchantman from New Orleans. Next known of him, returned from the Far East under own name with apparently a certain amount of money. On hearing marriage of his sister, came to New York and established himself in Wall Street, largely through the aid of Bloodgood, over whose head evidently has held some threat. Met Maud Lille and probably came to some understanding with her; has paid her money from time to time. Encouraged sister's infatuation for Majendie, whom sought to enlist in scheme for rice production in South; failed. Made money rapidly until three months ago, when several ventures failed and became involved. Secured personal loan of $10,000 from Majendie without knowledge of sister. Has lived at rate of $40,000 a year, running several establishments; said to have given $15,000 worth of jewelry to Mlle. Clo. D'Aresco, the dancer, on her last visit here. Made immense short sales in recent market and was on verge of failure when panic saved him. Has profited by infatuation of Mrs. Cheever to borrow large sums in last week. On day after theft sold steadily all day; under suspicions by his own clients and on verge of arrest, when drop in stocks turned tide in his favor. Reputed to have covered his losses and made $100,000 in last three days.""You were on his track then!" exclaimed Beecher, suddenly enlightened."I was and I am," said McKenna; "and in less than twenty-four hours I'll shake down that frisky gentleman for about forty-five thousand dollars that he has been speculating with. Four days ago I couldn't have collected forty-five cents. That's why I held off.""Good Lord!" said Beecher, suddenly remembering. "I say, McKenna, Miss Charters' money is tied up with him. You don't suppose—by Jove, I hope nothing's wrong!""You give me the amount," said McKenna with a click of his teeth. "I'll get it. He knows, I guess, by this time what a pretty little story it would make in the morning papers. He won't resist—not he!""Look here," said Beecher excitedly, putting his hand to his pocketbook. "By Jove, that's lucky. I've still got that order. I can telephone her now—""Telephone nothing," said McKenna, reaching out his hand. "I don't need that order, except as a reference. Just keep it quiet. The young lady won't thank you less for your saving her without her knowledge, will she?""No," said Beecher, flurried. "Here's the order. When'll you get at Garraboy?""In about ten minutes," said McKenna, reaching over for a fresh cigar."Here?""Right here.""And the ring?" asked Gunther quickly."What do you think?" said McKenna, his little eyes snapping through the blaze of the match as he lighted his cigar."I think it lies between Mrs. Cheever, Miss Lille and Garraboy," said Gunther; "either woman took it and either passed it to Garraboy at the table—""Well?" said McKenna, as Gunther hesitated."Or Garraboy took it first and passed it to one of them.""Why?""For fear that he or she had been seen taking it the first time—to cover up the tracks. Whoever may have seen the ring taken would believe the original thief had restored it and kept quiet.""That's ingenious, and I must say it may prove to have some bearing," said McKenna. "It's likewise possible. But you gentlemen have missed the whole point of what I've been reading you.""In what way?""There's not one bit of evidence who took the ring," said McKenna, with a gesture at the recording sheets. "It shows who might have taken it—that's true. Now, what it shows is this—what was working in every one's mind the night of that party. You remember that it was on the night before Majendie's failure, and that the whole question of the panic hung on whether he was going to pull through or not. Now, of every one who was there, with the exception of Miss Charters, Mrs. Bloodgood and Mr. Beecher here, every one was in Wall Street up to their necks, and if they knew what had happened to Majendie they could call the turn. Now, what happened? Bloodgood was getting his information from Maud Lille, who got it from Garraboy, who easy enough could get it from his sister, not out of treachery, but unconsciously, you may be sure. Well, all these three got the straight tip. That's what the meeting next morning was about. Bloodgood never took the ring; that would be ridiculous; and Maud Lille, whatever her record for drifting, is not a crook. So those meetings were on the question of speculation, pure and simple."Now, Mrs. Cheever got the news straight and Mr. Cheever didn't, though he depended on his wife working Garraboy. Cheever bought stocks and was caught. That likewise shows there may be some interesting developments in that charming little family, particularly when he finds out that Mrs. Cheever sold and won. Now, what have we to go on? Cheever's a crook—but if he took it, he did it alone."Garraboy's a crook and, following Mr. Gunther's theory, he could have taken it alone or working with Mrs. Cheever. If there was any collusion, it was there. Gentlemen, I am only discussing possibilities.""If the ring was taken to raise money to gamble in Wall Street, then it lies between Cheever and Garraboy," said Gunther."Say it this way: if Mrs. Cheever or Miss Lille took it, Garraboy would probably know—""And Slade?" said Beecher."If Slade took it, we're losing our time. Aren't we?" said McKenna."McKenna, do you know?" said Gunther suddenly."Unless I am very much mistaken, I'll know in twenty-four hours," said McKenna, "I know this—who has the ring and when he had it, and this evening, about 5:30 in the afternoon, I ought to know from the gentleman in question, who pawned it—unless I learn sooner.""Unless Garraboy confesses," said Beecher."Gentlemen," said McKenna, answering with a nod an assistant who opened the door at this moment, "I'm not given to boasting, but I'll risk this." He went to the desk, wrote a name on a card, sealed it in an envelope and handed it to Beecher. "That's the name of the person who took the ring. Keep it until it is found. That sounds like Sherlock Holmes, but there's one reason why I feel like being a little stagey; and I don't mind admitting to you that I got to it by deduction—honest deduction, though!""Why've you Garraboy here, then?" said Beecher, while the letter in his pocket seemed to radiate heat like an ember."Do you want to know?—you'll be surprised," said McKenna, going to the desk again. "Well, it's to convince myself that Garraboy had nothing to do with it.""What!" exclaimed the two.McKenna made them a signal to be silent and, taking up the loose sheets of the different records, started to place them in the drawer; but all at once he stopped, selected one, the record of the broker himself, and laid it face up on the table. The next moment the door opened and Garraboy came warily into the room.CHAPTER XXIAt the sight of Beecher and Gunther, Garraboy stopped short, evidently nonplused."I was told to come in," he said, lifting his eyebrows."Quite right," said McKenna briskly, raising his voice a trifle. From the moment of the broker's entrance his eyes fastened on Garraboy, never leaving him. "Come right in.""I'm interrupting—" said Garraboy carefully, conscious of this set gaze."Not in the least.""I thought our business was confidential, McKenna," he said, without having moved from the position he had taken on entering. "I fail to see—" he stopped and looked again at the two young men."Oh, Mr. Beecher and Gunther," said McKenna affably; "suppose we call them attorneys for one of your clients.""Miss Charters?""You're a good guesser, Mr. Garraboy."The broker drew in his upper lip and, coming slowly forward, said:"The presence of these gentlemen is exceedingly distasteful to me.""You're not in a position to object, Mr. Garraboy."Garraboy turned his back and walked slowly back and forth, evidently in distressed conjecture, occasionally raising his head to shoot a glance at the three, half in rage, half in fear.All at once he stopped by the desk as though his mind had come to a certain decision, and, bearing heavily on it, said:"I do not know that I care, under the circumstances, to enter into any discussion. You, Mr. McKenna, represent my client, Mrs. Alva White; your claim against me is for forty-five thousand eight hundred and forty-six dollars." He drew out his pocketbook. "I have here a check made to your order." A second time he plunged his hand into his pocket and brought out a check-book. "I was not notified that Miss Charters' was also under discussion. However, I will settle that at once. To whose order, please?"McKenna, without answering, indicated himself with a jerk of his finger.Garraboy, seating himself at the desk, took up a pen and carefully filled in the check, blotted it and handed the two drafts to McKenna, who took them, endorsed them and, ringing, handed them to an assistant:"Present these at once. Telephone me as soon as they are honored."Garraboy carefully blotted the check-book in turn, replaced it in his pocket, and was thrusting back his chair from the desk when McKenna, turning on him sharply, said:"Garraboy, you stole that ring of Mrs. Kildair's."The broker, startled, jerked up his head."So that's the meaning of all this!" he said angrily."Answer my question!"But this time Garraboy, without wincing, rose suddenly to his feet."McKenna, I have nothing more to say to you," he said, scowling, "on this or any other question. Your claims are satisfied. I recognize no further right of you to insult me.""Don't move, Mr. Garraboy," said McKenna softly; "we've a lot of business still to talk over.""Are you trying to blackmail me?" said Garraboy furiously, folding his arms."Garraboy, I've got the goods on you and there may be a paper or two in my pocket you wouldn't care to have served," said McKenna, the pupils of his eyes seeming to dwindle to a point as the whites showed under a well-simulated show of anger. "First place, you're going to sit here until I get a telephone those checks are cashed. Second, and this may surprise you, you're going to stick right by me—today and tonight, until you make up your mind whether you'll answer me or answer a court of justice. Third, before we get through here, I want your name at the bottom of a little document I've drawn up for you.""What do you mean?" said Garraboy, but with a note of apprehension in his voice."A plain, honest recital of what you've been doing with other folks' property these last two months—""You said—" fairly screamed the broker."I said if you settled my claims I wouldn't prosecute—true, and I won't. But just the same you're getting out of business here in New York, and I'm going to hold a paper that'll keep you out.""Never!" exclaimed Garraboy in desperation. "Every cent I owe will be settled in twenty-four hours. I'll close up every account—I'll agree to that—but I'll not be blackmailed into this. You haven't a charge against me that'll stand in any court in this country—""What about that ring?" said McKenna. "You were trying all over town to raise fifteen thousand dollars that day. Garraboy, you stole that ring, pawned it, and raised the money to hold off your loans.""That's a lie!" he said, clenching his fists. "I got it—""Where?""None of your business.""Where did you get the money to pay your interest and to put up the new margins you did?""I was acting for others.""What others?"Garraboy opened his mouth to reply and then suddenly stopped.McKenna said immediately:"No, you won't say what others, because if you do claim you sold for others, here before witnesses, you know you'll restore a good deal more money than you figured out to disgorge. Oh, you're clever all right. Answer me—did you steal that ring?""I did not," said Garraboy suddenly; "and I don't know anything more about it than Beecher here—in fact, considerably less." He looked over with a sneer on his lips and then quickly and firmly exclaimed: "McKenna, my mind's made up. I'm going out that door—now. If you attempt to prevent me, I'll hold Mr. Beecher and Mr. Gunther here as witnesses that you kept me here by force. And I'll have you up on—"All at once he seemed to choke on a word as his eyes, following the movement of the fist that struck the table, came suddenly in contact with the upturned sheet entitled:
CHAPTER XIX
When the next day Beecher reached his club he found all discussions centered upon John G. Slade and the astonishing and incomprehensible outcome of the conference at Gunther's of which naturally only the usual misinformation was known. The morning papers had contained a reassuring statement, backed by powerful names, of the condition of the Associated Trust, with promises of support. Gunther had publicly announced that he would bring twenty millions of ready money to relieve the financial stringency and, if that were not sufficient, twenty millions more. When the man in the Street comprehended that the great fortunes of the country had authorized this step, the effect was instantaneous. The stock market opened with loss of two to three points and immediately recovered this decline and, for the first time during the week, registered distinct advances. The runs on the banks still continued, but the lines of depositors were apparently less. At eleven o'clock Rupert V. Steele visibly entered the offices of the Associated Trust and, advancing to the deserted window of the cashier, made the first deposit. In a minute it was publicly announced that five millions of dollars had just been deposited to the credit of the great Columbus National. Half of the waiting line, wavered, turned and went home.
"Well, Slade's turned the trick," said Gunther, joining his friend. "But how he managed to wriggle through is a mystery."
"Haven't seen the papers," said Beecher. "What do they say about Emma Fornez?"
"Couldn't be better. The third act bowled 'em over," said Gunther, laughing. Beecher had told him of the diva's prophecy. "By the way, Ted, my long shot may not prove such a wild one. Mapleson is a close friend of the Cheevers—rather attentive to the lady, who from all accounts is a rather frisky one. I telephoned McKenna about it and he seemed distinctly interested."
"McKenna?" said Beecher, opening his eyes.
"Well, yes," said Gunther, laughing; "but forget I told you. Besides, I have a feeling that things will open up now."
"Is McKenna on the trail of any one?"
"Well, yes," said Gunther slowly; "and I don't think it'll be long now before we hear of him. How about lunch?"
At this moment a boy arrived with summons for Beecher to the telephone. He did not recognize the voice immediately.
"You don't know who it is?" said a woman.
He thought he recognized the tones of Miss Rivers, whom he had shamefully neglected in the excitement of the last days; but, warily, he did not commit himself.
"You're disguising your voice," he said cautiously.
"Not at all. You are not very flattering—but when one listens so much to the voice of Emma Fornez—"
"Miss Charters," he said instantly.
"At last."
He was suddenly troubled at the discovery, for he had sincerely persuaded himself that he did not intend to see her again.
"She is going to reproach me," he thought uneasily, "for not returning to see her last night. The devil! Well, I shall tell her the truth—I didn't like her companion."
But instead of reproaches she said in very good humor:
"Look out, I can be very jealous. What are you doing tonight?"
"I am dining out," he said, fibbing promptly, determined to remain firm.
"Oh—I'm sorry," she said, with a quick dropping of her tone. "I wanted you to take me to a dress rehearsal that will be very amusing."
"I'm sorry too."
"What are you doing this afternoon, around tea time?"
"I have an engagement," he said truthfully.
"With Emma Fornez?"
"Yes."
"I am not very lucky, am I?" she said.
The wounded tone in her voice made him feel a bit ashamed. He saw that she would not ask him again and relented a little.
"Will you be in at four? I can drop in for a little chat then," he said, amazed at his own yielding even as he spoke the words.
"Come then. I want very much to see you," she answered but without lightness.
"Now I'm in it again!" he said ruefully as he left the telephone. "What the deuce made me say I'd go. Just because I didn't want to hurt her—O Lord! Steady, old boy, steady!"
Outside the booth he found Gunther, an afternoon's paper in his hand, scanning it with excitement on every feature.
"I say, Ted, here's news indeed," he cried. "What do you think of that?"
He pointed to the headline on the front page where the engagement of John G. Slade to Mrs. Rita Kildair was announced in large type. The two young men looked at each other in profound astonishment.
"By Jove!" said Beecher, suddenly enlightened. "That's what was at the bottom last night! Now I understand." In a moment he comprehended the full measure of the agony of uncertainty she must have suffered at his side in the returning automobile. "So that was her game after all!"
"Now things'll begin to move," said Gunther eagerly. "If she really knows who's the thief, as McKenna believes, the ring ought to be returned in forty-eight hours."
"Why?"
"Because now that she is publicly engaged to Slade, any one who has been trading on the knowledge of how she got the ring won't have a shred to blackmail her with. You see it now becomes the engagement ring that Slade gave her and she can move openly; and from what I've seen of her, she'll lose no time. Ted, I'll prophesy in forty-eight hours we'll hear something about that ring."
"I believe you're right," said Beecher as they went into luncheon; and, thinking of the curious conjunction of Mrs. Kildair's and Miss Charters' prophecy as to the return of the ring, he said to himself unwillingly: "If the ring is returned, does that mean that Mrs. Bloodgood took it?"
A little after four he went to pay his call on Miss Charters and as he had become accustomed to her perplexing change of moods, he wondered in what temper she would receive him. She was in a Russian blouse of gray corduroy relieved by a broad lace collar and fitted loosely to her straight, lithe body by a belt at the waist, an effect of girlish simplicity, very yielding and artless.
She did not wait for him in the sitting-room but came out into the hall, taking his hat and stick herself and leading the way. Once in the cosy sitting-room she stopped, turning to face him and suddenly taking his hands in hers.
"Let me look at you," she said, drawing off and raising her eyes to his thoughtfully, while her lips twisted a little into a most serious sternness.
"Little imp!" he thought grimly, prepared against her wiles and yet a little startled at this figure of a young girl which so tantalizingly confronted him.
She saw at once, in the amused composure of his face, that she had been mistaken in ascribing his absence to the pique of jealousy. What she had on her lips she did not say, and suddenly alert at the realization that her presence no longer troubled him she drew him toward the fireplace, leading him to a great armchair.
"There," she said, laughing, "you will see how we treat the prodigal son. Sit down." She brought a cushion and insisted upon placing it behind his back. "Don't get up. A scotch and soda? Sit still—I like to mix it."
She went to a table and presently came back with the tumbler, offering it to him with a well simulated attitude of submission. When he took it, she dropped a curtsey and going to the library table, returned with a box of cigars and the matches. Continuing always the same game, determined to force a laugh, she lit the match, holding it to him between her rosy palms.
"Is your lordship satisfied?"
"I am."
She lit a cigarette in turn and camping down on the bear rug, Eastern fashion, puffed a ring of smoke in the direction of the fire. For a moment neither spoke, she studying the embers, he enjoying this new side to her and awaiting the next development.
"I'm very unhappy," she said at last, without looking at him.
"I'm sorry," he answered sympathetically.
"I have had a great disappointment. I read that play of Hargrave's again—there's nothing to it."
"You surprise me."
The fact was that Brockway, Stigler's stage director had torn it to pieces. She continued, repeating what Brockway had said:
"The trouble is, it's not actable. It's like all plays that read well—I should have known it. There's no dramatic action. Then, it has one great fault—all young writers have it—you see, every scene should be a unit in itself, express one dramatic emotion, develop it, and increase it; and Hargrave puts three or four emotions in the same page—five or six," she continued indignantly. "It's all mixed up—topsy-turvy—no actress could make an effect." (This had been its chief merit two days before.) "It's very sad; I shall never find a play."
"You were very enthusiastic a few days ago," he said.
"Was I?" she said resentfully. "You see, the trouble is, in reading you imagine things that aren't there."
"So Hargrave isn't a genius after all?" he asked.
"He is very conceited—insufferably so," she said abruptly. "But you don't understand—it's the disappointment to me—I shall never find a play. Sometimes I feel like giving it all up. It's terrible—breaking your heart day after day. Yes, sometimes I feel like never acting again."
"You are in a blue mood," he said cheerfully.
"Everything has gone wrong," she said, pouting. "Even you have changed!"
She looked at him with a look of a tired child, longing to climb into his lap to be consoled.
"How so?" he said, opening his eyes.
"Teddy, have I offended you?" she asked gently, seeing that she could not unbend him by playing upon his sympathy.
"Not the least."
She would have preferred any answer but this.
"Why wouldn't you go with me tonight?" she said quickly.
"Because I have another engagement," he said, instinctively glancing at the clock.
She saw the look, sprang up from the rug furiously, and leaping toward the mantelpiece seized the offending clock and flung it across the room in a tantrum.
"Go to your Emma Fornez!" she said, stamping her foot. "If you are going to sit here and measure the minutes, you can go!"
He rose, startled at the passion of jealousy he had aroused.
"I told you I had an engagement," he began.
"Nonsense!" she burst out, still the prey of her anger. "You know very well you can keep her waiting half an hour if you wish, and you know very well that you can put off your engagement to-night—or is it with her, always with her?"
"I don't care to discuss my engagements," he said coldly, an emotion which he was far from feeling, for the sudden wild-eyed fury into which he had plunged her awoke in him something that thrilled him, as he had been thrilled the day he had returned Mrs. Bloodgood to her home, at the thought of what a consuming passion might be.
"Why do you tag around with her?" she continued heedlessly. "I should think you'd have more regard for your dignity—for what people think—Emma Fornez—ah!"
She stopped, pressing her handkerchief to her eyes and then, feeling he had perceived it, she exclaimed: "If I cry it's because I am disappointed—disillusionized—angry!"
She turned her back and went quickly to the window where the little Dresden clock lay shattered in a corner. She picked it up and looked at it, swallowing her anger. Then, as he continued to keep the silence, she came back, without looking at him, placed the clock on the mantelpiece again and said coldly:
"Well, it is time for you to go—not to keep her waiting."
"Good-afternoon," he said with a bow, and left the apartment.
When he reached the street, he was overcome with surprise.
"By Jove!" he said, swinging joyfully along. "Is it possible after all that she does care about me? How her eyes blazed—the little fury. That at least wasn't acting!"
And though he remained until late, amused at Emma Fornez, he felt the flame of the other presence about him, obtruding itself at every moment; and he who had seen the play of strong emotions in Mrs. Bloodgood and Mrs. Kildair, avidly began to feel what it would mean to be loved with such intensity.
Emma Fornez questioned him about Miss Charters but for the first time he resolutely concealed from her what had taken place.
That night on his return to his rooms, he found a short note from Bruce Gunther:
DEAR TED,
Be at McKenna's offices to-morrow—ten sharp. Something doing.
B.
P.S. Keep this to yourself—savez?
CHAPTER XX
DEAR TEDDY,
I am very much ashamed at what happened yesterday. Please forgive my ill-humor and some day, when you have a spare hour, do come to see me.
NAN CHARTERS.
This note was the first which Beecher read on awakening the next morning. He had slept by fits and starts, troubled by the memory of his last interview with the young actress. The sudden unchecked tempest of jealousy and anger which had revealed to him the dramatic intensity of the woman had made a more haunting impression on his imagination than all her premeditated appeals.
"If after all she does love me? How tremendous it would be," he had said to himself a dozen times, turning restlessly, in the half stupor of waking sleep.
He lived over again the scene—only this time it seemed to him that when she had flung the clock from her in a passion, he had laughed joyfully and caught her struggling in his arms, exulting in this rage which burned so close to him. His first impulse on reading her note was to telephone her immediately, but he resisted this movement, saying to himself that that would be surrendering all his advantage.
"I'll call up later," he thought with a smile; "that will be much better."
He went eagerly down to McKenna's office, wondering what surprise was in store. Gunther and McKenna were already in the latter's private office, as he entered, and with the first look he took at the detective's smiling countenance, he perceived that he must be on the track of something significant.
"We were discussing Mrs. Kildair's engagement," said Gunther. "McKenna agrees with me that it will expedite matters wonderfully."
"How did Slade manage it?" said Beecher at once.
The detective, without answering, went to his desk and picked up a square of cardboard on which he had pasted two clippings from the newspapers, one the announcement signed by Gunther, Sr., Marx and Fontaine, giving notice of their support of the Associated Trust, and the other the bare announcement of the prospective marriage of John G. Slade and Mrs. Rita Kildair.
"I am going to preserve this and hang it up over my mantelpiece," he said, looking at it thoughtfully, "and when I have an idle hour, I'll stretch out, smoke up and study it. A couple of million people must have seen that—and that's all they'll ever know."
"And you?"
"I can only—deduce," he said, a twinkle in his eye. He glanced at the clock and said hurriedly: "Now we must get down to business. I am expecting some one in half an hour who ought to particularly interest you."
"You know who took the ring!" said Beecher instantly.
"I know several things," said McKenna briskly; "but everything in place. I promised you gentlemen, as you are interested in those things, a little history of the party that was at Mrs. Kildair's that night. It's nothing as literary style goes—just facts. Here it is. I'll skip the personal descriptions."
He took up a bundle of notes, seated himself on the corner of the flat desk, and began to read:
"Cheever, Stanley: Age 48; married; old New York family; left a fortune estimated at $425,000, at the death of his father, Ganet Cheever, when he was twenty-eight. Lived ten years abroad, principally London; inveterate gambler; lost heavily at Monte Carlo—sum estimated at $125,000; later became involved in a gambling scandal in England, but it was hushed up by his payment of a large sum to cover notes given. Continued to lose heavily at St. Petersburg, Baden and Paris; began borrowing large sums, meeting obligations with difficulty. Declared bankruptcy in Colorado, where he had gone to promote a mine; his statements contested by creditors who brought suit; contest settled out of court by payment by his relatives to avoid a family scandal. Returned to New York and engaged himself as an exploiter of well-known wine merchants. Married three years ago Lydia Borgen, daughter of a large importing grocer, who brought him $100,000. Lives at rate of $20,000 a year. Only known occupation gambling; said to have won fifty-five thousand dollars in three nights' play from Kane Wentworth and Thomas Haggerty, Jr.,—protested but paid. Method of play has occasioned numerous reports to his discredit. Accused operating a system of private signals with his wife, by Mrs. Elmer Jardine after scene at card-table; brought suit for libel against her and received $12,000 damages out of court to compromise it. Is not received in home of father-in-law. Cut off by mother's will. Frequently quarrels with his wife over the attentions of other men. Known to have applied unsuccessfully at several banks within the last month to raise loans. Heavily speculated on long side of recent market, purchasing large block of stocks, margined, on morning after theft of ring, and said to be heavily involved. Sought aid of wife's relatives day before yesterday; refused.
"Cheever, Mrs. Lydia: Born Lydia Borgen, daughter Harris Borgen, German immigrant, who married Lydia Foley, waitress in Pearl Street restaurant. Father made fortune in grocery business, establishing with brother in South America a large importing office dealing in cocoa, coffee, and fruit. At death of uncle, Lydia became heir to $100,000. Father said to be worth three quarters of a million, but estranged from daughter, whose marriage he opposed. As a young girl Lydia, rebellious and wild, constantly involved in escapades, notably with an actor, James Rocker, with whom she attempted to elope and go on the stage. Kept under strict surveillance, but at age of seventeen ran off with Charles Bourgoyne, young English groom at Waltby's riding academy. Pursued and arrested just as about to be married in New Jersey. Bourgoyne arrested for abduction but later paid to leave country. Married at nineteen to Stanley Cheever, through mediation of mother and a Mrs. Dorgan, notorious marriage broker. Has become tool of husband in schemes of raising money while leading a separate existence. Keeps private bank account unknown to husband. Very extravagant in personal expenses which cannot be accounted for on known income. From beginning of married life has been conspicuous for her relations with other men, generally wealthy bachelors, who have subsequently lost money at cards: names best known, Edward Fontaine, Reginald Forrest, Thomas Haggerty, Jr. At present seen frequently with R. G. Mapleson of firm of Sontag & Co.—"
"Mapleson!" said the two young men in a breath.
"I know what you mean," said McKenna, raising his hand. "Wait till I get through"; and he continued to read in his matter-of-fact, unemotional voice these pages of hard, glaring facts that left his hearers straining forward to catch every word:
"At present deeply involved in affair with E. V. Garraboy. Seems to have been introduced to the broker at desire of husband, to obtain through this channel information which his sister, Mrs. Enos Bloodgood, may have acquired from B. L. Majendie of financial affairs in general and particularly Atlantic Trust. Acquaintance developed into violent passion for Garraboy by Mrs. Cheever; has met him frequently of late, twice having been followed to his apartments. Of late, scenes with husband have been increasing in violence, coupled with mutual threats—believe rupture possible.
"Item: Bills against Mrs. Cheever known to be outstanding include $13,800 to Sontag & Co., for jewels; $1,200 to Madame Cortin for hats, etc.; $8,300 to Friegel Bros., robes.
"Item: The $100,000 she inherited, stands in her own name, but is believed to be now reduced to $75,000. Morning after theft of ring, sold short through Garraboy, her broker, 5,000 shares Union Pacific. For further details, see Garraboy.
"Charming little domestic circle, eh?" said McKenna, laying down the sheet. "Now for another:
"Bloodgood, Enos R.: Owner New YorkDaily Star; large holder of real estate in lower New York; director Metropolitan Opera; brought up, at death of his parents, by his grandfather, Joseph Bloodgood, president of the Northwestern Railroad, as his prospective heir. At age of 20, despite threats of his guardian, left college and married Charlotte Granby, daughter of his tutor. Promptly disinherited. Went to work as a clerk in Brooklyn drygoods store, living on twenty-five dollars a week, refusing all overtures from grandfather, who offered to forgive him on condition of separation from his wife, allowing her $20,000. Refused and lived in that condition for five years until her death, brought on by privations. Reconciled with grandfather and sent abroad for a journey through Europe. Two years later became violently infatuated with a Spanish singer of the Café Chantants and went with her on a trip to South America, again defying his guardian. At the end of a year, affair ended by a secret payment made by his grandfather to the woman to procure her desertion. Followed her and engaged in duel with her companion, from whom he received serious wounds. After recovery, returned to Paris, where he again became entangled in violent infatuations. On point of marrying an Austrian countess of doubtful history, fell ill with pneumonia and almost died. Returned to New York and became reconciled with grandfather. Seemed to turn over new leaf; entered journalism and made good record for steadiness and conservatism, leading exemplary life. Grandfather, in his will, however, contrary to expectations, cut him off with $20,000. Two months later, married Mrs. Georgiana Wakeman, fifteen years his senior, fortune estimated at ten millions, widow of former owner of N. Y.Star, which then passed under his control. Next ten years remarkable for his strict application to business and the dissoluteness of his private life. Mixed up in several promoting schemes with various success. At death of second wife, received bulk of fortune. Remained widower three years, greatly increasing fortune at period of Trust consolidations. Married third wife, Elise Garraboy, noted Southern beauty, no fortune. Union unhappy after first months; returned to his old habits. Three months ago forced to pay $15,000 to prevent blackmailing suit on part of a Miss Edna Rusk, chorus girl. Plunged heavily on short side of late market in a pool formed to bear market; reputed to have made immense gains.
"Item: Has been in confidential relations with Miss Maud Lille for some time. Visited her early morning, after theft of ring."
"That's queer," said Gunther, startled at this final detail. "Did Bloodgood do anything in the market that day?"
"Sold right and left," said McKenna, exchanging papers.
Beecher, more impressionable than his companion, said nothing, overcome by the bare recital of this brutal, materialistic life that once had been young and stirred to unbelievable sacrifice.
"Bloodgood, Mrs. Enos: Born Elise Garraboy; sister of Edward Garraboy; old Southern family, New Orleans; father Colonel Marston Garraboy; died when children were little. Mother married Boyd Hallowel, Englishman, third son Lord Carmody, came to live in New York. Hallowel died ten years later, leaving her with small income but social connections. Elise educated at convent; made début in society at age of eighteen; great beauty; numerous suitors; engaged in second season to Enos Bloodgood; engagement broken; married a year later. Story current, forced into it to save mother from bankruptcy. Left husband twice in first two years, but persuaded to return by mother. Met Bernard L. Majendie eight months ago at Palm Beach. Infatuation no secret; understood that two weeks before panic had placed her interests in hands of lawyers, who procured evidence for divorce; action halted temporarily. Night of party at Mrs. Kildair's, trunks packed for journey, tickets purchased at Grand Central to Montreal. Day after, made no investments in Wall Street. Following day, left home with trunks and returned shortly after suicide. Violent scenes with husband. Shut herself up in room for hours. That night went to home of Majendie, company with—"
Suddenly McKenna stopped at a violent movement of surprise from Beecher, and said quickly, "—a woman and a young man. Said to be totally without funds; husband reputed to allow her only $120 a month pocket-money. That's all."
Gunther had been quick to see the agitation of his companion but, since he comprehended that whatever the part he had played Beecher wished to keep it in confidence, he pretended to have understood nothing.
"Then there is no trace of Mrs. Bloodgood's having gone into the market?" he said.
"None," replied McKenna. "There are other details, but they come better under head of the brother."
He shuffled the remaining sheets and then, as though divining the unease of Beecher, he said in a matter-of-fact tone:
"Here's the history of Miss Nan Charters; but as it gives us nothing important we don't know, I'll leave it out. Particularly as we're short of time. However, I'll say this—there is no record of any stock transactions except that which we know of already. The next is Miss Maud Lille, a curious character, too."
Beecher drew a long breath and relaxed in his chair, grateful to McKenna for his consideration.
"Lille, Maud," said the detective, reading. "Real name Margaret Case; daughter Rev. Hiram Case and Fanny Saunders, Zanesville, Ohio; left home at age of sixteen; studied one year to be trained nurse; left hospital and studied stenography; later joined traveling circus, business department; became press agent. Stranded in northern Arizona; earned living by writing for local newspapers under name Jane Anderson; went to San Francisco and from there to Honolulu, supporting herself by her writings, occasionally taking regular position as stenographer. In Hawaii met and married an eastern adventurer known under name of Edward Bracken; returned with him to San Francisco, where couple engaged in mining speculations. Husband pursued for fraud and fled; wife arrested but released. Went to Chicago after securing divorce and changed name to Maud Lille. Sent to Cripple Creek by ChicagoWorldand made a hit by her graphic accounts of labor conditions. Married Patrick O'Fallon, wealthy mine owner. Went with him for trip in Europe but apparently dissatisfied with life left him and returned to newspaper work, establishing herself in New York. Not divorced. Under own name author of several successful novels; prefers Bohemian existence of journalist evidently, reporting prize-fights, political conventions, murder trials, etc. Attached to staff of New YorkStarand apparently much in confidence of owner. Lately much interested in stock market. On morning after theft met E. V. Garraboy at Levere's restaurant, near home, before breakfast; returned to her apartment and saw Enos Bloodgood two hours later. Reported sold short 500 shares Union Pacific."
"By Jove," exclaimed Beecher as Gunther rose excitedly to his feet, "you've got it!"
"Maud Lille took it first and transferred it to Garraboy," said Gunther, then he stopped, puzzled; "but Bloodgood—that's incredible!"
"Hold in your horses," said McKenna, shaking his head with silent laughter, delighted, in fact, that they had fallen into his trap. "There's one more little history to read." He hesitated and then said: "Now, I don't want to play up to a little tin god on wheels, though that's easy enough. I'll say this, that a good deal of the information I am reading you I have had in hand. The gentleman whose bright little history I am going to read you, I have had my eyes on for some time. That'll develop.
"Garraboy, Edward V.: Sent to military training school; expelled; went up north, boarding-school; expelled; tutored for college and went to Harvard; ran up debts to extent of over a thousand dollars in two months, signing promissory notes. Paid by stepfather, who withdrew him at the request of college authorities; cut off by family and sent to Chicago with four hundred dollars to enter business house. Instead, speculated in wheat market and said to have made a little money. Went to Denver with small capital and posed as son of wealthy parents. Made acquaintance of a family called Sanderson and shortly became engaged to daughter, heiress to considerable fortune. Engagement broken as result of investigations. Left Denver, leaving behind a number of debts and bad checks. Next, heard of in southern California, working in mine; got in shooting affray over daughter of Mexican and went into British Columbia. Used many names. Spent a year in small stock companies playing little rôles; made a lucky gamble in silver mine and went to San Francisco, living high. Went to Seattle; became engaged to a widow of large real estate manipulator; persuaded her to invest her money in land exploitation scheme in southern California which proved failure. Ran away from Seattle and went to Hawaii to sell imitation jewelry under name of Edward—"
"Bracken!" exclaimed the two young men in one breath.
"Exactly."
"Married to Maud Lille!" cried Gunther, the first to recover his astonishment. "Why, the little toad! How the deuce did these women fall for him?"
"Oh, that's a question by itself, Mr. Gunther," said McKenna, smiling. "It's a good deal in studying what you're dealing with, and Garraboy watched them pretty close. Let me finish.
"Came to San Francisco, as you know; fled to escape pursuit; changing name, shipped as clerk on a merchantman from New Orleans. Next known of him, returned from the Far East under own name with apparently a certain amount of money. On hearing marriage of his sister, came to New York and established himself in Wall Street, largely through the aid of Bloodgood, over whose head evidently has held some threat. Met Maud Lille and probably came to some understanding with her; has paid her money from time to time. Encouraged sister's infatuation for Majendie, whom sought to enlist in scheme for rice production in South; failed. Made money rapidly until three months ago, when several ventures failed and became involved. Secured personal loan of $10,000 from Majendie without knowledge of sister. Has lived at rate of $40,000 a year, running several establishments; said to have given $15,000 worth of jewelry to Mlle. Clo. D'Aresco, the dancer, on her last visit here. Made immense short sales in recent market and was on verge of failure when panic saved him. Has profited by infatuation of Mrs. Cheever to borrow large sums in last week. On day after theft sold steadily all day; under suspicions by his own clients and on verge of arrest, when drop in stocks turned tide in his favor. Reputed to have covered his losses and made $100,000 in last three days."
"You were on his track then!" exclaimed Beecher, suddenly enlightened.
"I was and I am," said McKenna; "and in less than twenty-four hours I'll shake down that frisky gentleman for about forty-five thousand dollars that he has been speculating with. Four days ago I couldn't have collected forty-five cents. That's why I held off."
"Good Lord!" said Beecher, suddenly remembering. "I say, McKenna, Miss Charters' money is tied up with him. You don't suppose—by Jove, I hope nothing's wrong!"
"You give me the amount," said McKenna with a click of his teeth. "I'll get it. He knows, I guess, by this time what a pretty little story it would make in the morning papers. He won't resist—not he!"
"Look here," said Beecher excitedly, putting his hand to his pocketbook. "By Jove, that's lucky. I've still got that order. I can telephone her now—"
"Telephone nothing," said McKenna, reaching out his hand. "I don't need that order, except as a reference. Just keep it quiet. The young lady won't thank you less for your saving her without her knowledge, will she?"
"No," said Beecher, flurried. "Here's the order. When'll you get at Garraboy?"
"In about ten minutes," said McKenna, reaching over for a fresh cigar.
"Here?"
"Right here."
"And the ring?" asked Gunther quickly.
"What do you think?" said McKenna, his little eyes snapping through the blaze of the match as he lighted his cigar.
"I think it lies between Mrs. Cheever, Miss Lille and Garraboy," said Gunther; "either woman took it and either passed it to Garraboy at the table—"
"Well?" said McKenna, as Gunther hesitated.
"Or Garraboy took it first and passed it to one of them."
"Why?"
"For fear that he or she had been seen taking it the first time—to cover up the tracks. Whoever may have seen the ring taken would believe the original thief had restored it and kept quiet."
"That's ingenious, and I must say it may prove to have some bearing," said McKenna. "It's likewise possible. But you gentlemen have missed the whole point of what I've been reading you."
"In what way?"
"There's not one bit of evidence who took the ring," said McKenna, with a gesture at the recording sheets. "It shows who might have taken it—that's true. Now, what it shows is this—what was working in every one's mind the night of that party. You remember that it was on the night before Majendie's failure, and that the whole question of the panic hung on whether he was going to pull through or not. Now, of every one who was there, with the exception of Miss Charters, Mrs. Bloodgood and Mr. Beecher here, every one was in Wall Street up to their necks, and if they knew what had happened to Majendie they could call the turn. Now, what happened? Bloodgood was getting his information from Maud Lille, who got it from Garraboy, who easy enough could get it from his sister, not out of treachery, but unconsciously, you may be sure. Well, all these three got the straight tip. That's what the meeting next morning was about. Bloodgood never took the ring; that would be ridiculous; and Maud Lille, whatever her record for drifting, is not a crook. So those meetings were on the question of speculation, pure and simple.
"Now, Mrs. Cheever got the news straight and Mr. Cheever didn't, though he depended on his wife working Garraboy. Cheever bought stocks and was caught. That likewise shows there may be some interesting developments in that charming little family, particularly when he finds out that Mrs. Cheever sold and won. Now, what have we to go on? Cheever's a crook—but if he took it, he did it alone.
"Garraboy's a crook and, following Mr. Gunther's theory, he could have taken it alone or working with Mrs. Cheever. If there was any collusion, it was there. Gentlemen, I am only discussing possibilities."
"If the ring was taken to raise money to gamble in Wall Street, then it lies between Cheever and Garraboy," said Gunther.
"Say it this way: if Mrs. Cheever or Miss Lille took it, Garraboy would probably know—"
"And Slade?" said Beecher.
"If Slade took it, we're losing our time. Aren't we?" said McKenna.
"McKenna, do you know?" said Gunther suddenly.
"Unless I am very much mistaken, I'll know in twenty-four hours," said McKenna, "I know this—who has the ring and when he had it, and this evening, about 5:30 in the afternoon, I ought to know from the gentleman in question, who pawned it—unless I learn sooner."
"Unless Garraboy confesses," said Beecher.
"Gentlemen," said McKenna, answering with a nod an assistant who opened the door at this moment, "I'm not given to boasting, but I'll risk this." He went to the desk, wrote a name on a card, sealed it in an envelope and handed it to Beecher. "That's the name of the person who took the ring. Keep it until it is found. That sounds like Sherlock Holmes, but there's one reason why I feel like being a little stagey; and I don't mind admitting to you that I got to it by deduction—honest deduction, though!"
"Why've you Garraboy here, then?" said Beecher, while the letter in his pocket seemed to radiate heat like an ember.
"Do you want to know?—you'll be surprised," said McKenna, going to the desk again. "Well, it's to convince myself that Garraboy had nothing to do with it."
"What!" exclaimed the two.
McKenna made them a signal to be silent and, taking up the loose sheets of the different records, started to place them in the drawer; but all at once he stopped, selected one, the record of the broker himself, and laid it face up on the table. The next moment the door opened and Garraboy came warily into the room.
CHAPTER XXI
At the sight of Beecher and Gunther, Garraboy stopped short, evidently nonplused.
"I was told to come in," he said, lifting his eyebrows.
"Quite right," said McKenna briskly, raising his voice a trifle. From the moment of the broker's entrance his eyes fastened on Garraboy, never leaving him. "Come right in."
"I'm interrupting—" said Garraboy carefully, conscious of this set gaze.
"Not in the least."
"I thought our business was confidential, McKenna," he said, without having moved from the position he had taken on entering. "I fail to see—" he stopped and looked again at the two young men.
"Oh, Mr. Beecher and Gunther," said McKenna affably; "suppose we call them attorneys for one of your clients."
"Miss Charters?"
"You're a good guesser, Mr. Garraboy."
The broker drew in his upper lip and, coming slowly forward, said:
"The presence of these gentlemen is exceedingly distasteful to me."
"You're not in a position to object, Mr. Garraboy."
Garraboy turned his back and walked slowly back and forth, evidently in distressed conjecture, occasionally raising his head to shoot a glance at the three, half in rage, half in fear.
All at once he stopped by the desk as though his mind had come to a certain decision, and, bearing heavily on it, said:
"I do not know that I care, under the circumstances, to enter into any discussion. You, Mr. McKenna, represent my client, Mrs. Alva White; your claim against me is for forty-five thousand eight hundred and forty-six dollars." He drew out his pocketbook. "I have here a check made to your order." A second time he plunged his hand into his pocket and brought out a check-book. "I was not notified that Miss Charters' was also under discussion. However, I will settle that at once. To whose order, please?"
McKenna, without answering, indicated himself with a jerk of his finger.
Garraboy, seating himself at the desk, took up a pen and carefully filled in the check, blotted it and handed the two drafts to McKenna, who took them, endorsed them and, ringing, handed them to an assistant:
"Present these at once. Telephone me as soon as they are honored."
Garraboy carefully blotted the check-book in turn, replaced it in his pocket, and was thrusting back his chair from the desk when McKenna, turning on him sharply, said:
"Garraboy, you stole that ring of Mrs. Kildair's."
The broker, startled, jerked up his head.
"So that's the meaning of all this!" he said angrily.
"Answer my question!"
But this time Garraboy, without wincing, rose suddenly to his feet.
"McKenna, I have nothing more to say to you," he said, scowling, "on this or any other question. Your claims are satisfied. I recognize no further right of you to insult me."
"Don't move, Mr. Garraboy," said McKenna softly; "we've a lot of business still to talk over."
"Are you trying to blackmail me?" said Garraboy furiously, folding his arms.
"Garraboy, I've got the goods on you and there may be a paper or two in my pocket you wouldn't care to have served," said McKenna, the pupils of his eyes seeming to dwindle to a point as the whites showed under a well-simulated show of anger. "First place, you're going to sit here until I get a telephone those checks are cashed. Second, and this may surprise you, you're going to stick right by me—today and tonight, until you make up your mind whether you'll answer me or answer a court of justice. Third, before we get through here, I want your name at the bottom of a little document I've drawn up for you."
"What do you mean?" said Garraboy, but with a note of apprehension in his voice.
"A plain, honest recital of what you've been doing with other folks' property these last two months—"
"You said—" fairly screamed the broker.
"I said if you settled my claims I wouldn't prosecute—true, and I won't. But just the same you're getting out of business here in New York, and I'm going to hold a paper that'll keep you out."
"Never!" exclaimed Garraboy in desperation. "Every cent I owe will be settled in twenty-four hours. I'll close up every account—I'll agree to that—but I'll not be blackmailed into this. You haven't a charge against me that'll stand in any court in this country—"
"What about that ring?" said McKenna. "You were trying all over town to raise fifteen thousand dollars that day. Garraboy, you stole that ring, pawned it, and raised the money to hold off your loans."
"That's a lie!" he said, clenching his fists. "I got it—"
"Where?"
"None of your business."
"Where did you get the money to pay your interest and to put up the new margins you did?"
"I was acting for others."
"What others?"
Garraboy opened his mouth to reply and then suddenly stopped.
McKenna said immediately:
"No, you won't say what others, because if you do claim you sold for others, here before witnesses, you know you'll restore a good deal more money than you figured out to disgorge. Oh, you're clever all right. Answer me—did you steal that ring?"
"I did not," said Garraboy suddenly; "and I don't know anything more about it than Beecher here—in fact, considerably less." He looked over with a sneer on his lips and then quickly and firmly exclaimed: "McKenna, my mind's made up. I'm going out that door—now. If you attempt to prevent me, I'll hold Mr. Beecher and Mr. Gunther here as witnesses that you kept me here by force. And I'll have you up on—"
All at once he seemed to choke on a word as his eyes, following the movement of the fist that struck the table, came suddenly in contact with the upturned sheet entitled: