II
“Mr. Gildersleeve wishes to see you alone in his stateroom.”
Hammond noted that much of the previous enthusiasm had gone from the little consul’s manner. His tone now was businesslike, matter-of-fact. No doubt, conjectured Hammond, he had hoped to be a party to the interview he had been instrumental in bringing about.
At the door of Gildersleeve’s stateroom, Hammond shook the hand of Eulas Daly with a word of thanks for the interest he had volunteered in the matter. “I’ll see you later and tell you all about it,” he said, a promise, which, for unexpected reasons, he never kept.
Hammond found Gildersleeve with a litter of papers and documents scattered about him and more protruding from the open jaws of a travelling-bag. He was the cut of a typical captain of big business; middle-aged, iron-grey, with a keen, cold face and the drift of a busy career stamped all over his personality. Two tiny spots, livid white, one below either eye, lent rather a sinister tone to his face, especially when his brilliant dark eyes, set too close to the hawklike nose, were looking straight at you. At first glance, those two marks appeared to be birth-marks, but closer scrutiny disclosed them to be scars.
He did not offer his hand at first; just favoured the younger man with a glance that was as swift as it was penetrating, then turned the document on the little leaf-table before him face down and motioned his visitor to a seat. When he spoke, Hammond felt an electric urge to be brief and to the point.
“Mr. Daly has told me what he knows of you,” he opened. “Now, will you kindly oblige me with such detail as you think important about yourself and your capabilities?”
Hammond’s training had disciplined him in the terse use of language. He told it all in less than ten minutes’ time.
Gildersleeve appraised him keenly, interestedly. “Good,” he approved. “You’ll no doubt do, provided you care to accept what I have to offer you. In any case, can I expect you to regard this interview as strictly confidential?”
“You can,” replied Hammond simply. “As you no doubt know, such a promise from a newspaperman is regarded as sacred.”
“Then we’ll get down to business. Would you, for instance, be prepared to undertake an assignment, entailing little effort beyond strict caution and secrecy, without being too inquisitive as to what its objects were?”
“That would depend on a number of things,” cautiously suggested the younger man. “It would have to be distinctly understood it was clean and above-board.”
“The moral side of it need not for a moment worry you,” smiled Gildersleeve. “You will be asked to do nothing that would conflict with your standards of honour, however strict they may be. In fact, in this particular case, it would be best for you to avoid even the appearance of trickery.”
“If I knew more about the nature of the job, Mr. Gildersleeve, I could better judge my capabilities of taking hold.”
“Your newspaper training in mixing with men, combined with a close-mouthed attitude will carry you through,” assured the other. “I’m not saying there will be no risks, but such risks will be largely contingent upon your own shrewd behaviour.”
Gildersleeve gazed at the window for a silent moment, then continued: “The proposition in brief is this: You are to secure for yourself a position of a clerical nature; say pole-counter, time-keeper or office-assistant, with the North Star Towing and Contracting Company, out at their camps on the Nannabijou pulpwood limits, located about twenty miles south-east of the Port of Kam City, on the North Shore of Lake Superior. You are to hold whatever job you select till I communicate with you, and, while you are engaged at it you are to forget that you have been a newspaper man, maintaining absolute silence to all concerned as to your past and as to why I sent you out there. On these two points, I’d like to repeat with emphasis, you must be particularly cautious.
“Now, as to remuneration: You will be paid by me personally on the completion of the contract at the rate of one thousand dollars a month for such time as you put in in addition to such salary as you draw for your work from the company operating the limits. Afterwards, if you point up to my expectations, I’ll be in a position to offer you a berth that will perhaps be more congenial and unclouded by the mystery that must for the time being surround this one.
“What do you think about it, Mr. Hammond?”
Hammond was for the moment lost for an answer. This high-salaried offer, though it distinctly appealed to his adventuring spirit, took him off his feet and the concealed object of his mission at the pulpwood limits made him hesitate.
“I am not expected to spy on any one?” he insisted.
“I have assured you there will be nothing underhand about it,” Gildersleeve reminded him.
“There is, however, a possibility I might not succeed in securing a position with the contracting company.”
“There is such a possibility—a remote one, but the way will be made easy for you. At Kam City you will make personal application to Hon. J. J. Slack, M.P., president of the North Star Towing and Contracting Company, presenting to him a letter of introduction I will furnish you with.”
The train slowed down to a grinding stop at a small flag station. It was but a moment till it was in motion again.
“I’ll take it,” decided Hammond.
Before Gildersleeve could reply there came a light, insistent tapping at the door of the stateroom. A coloured porter entered, bearing a sealed envelope, passed it to Gildersleeve with a flash of very white teeth and retired.
Gildersleeve ripped the message from the envelope, glanced at its contents and pushed the button at his elbow. “Porter,” he requested when the latter re-appeared, “how long does the train stop at Moose Horn Station?”
“Twenty minutes, sah. We take on watah there, sah.”
“Very well, porter,” acknowledged Gildersleeve, passing the black man a tip.
He reached for pen and railway stationery, and while he wrote hurriedly said: “This note to J. J. Slack will act as the open sesame to the job, Mr. Hammond. You may read it before I seal it.”
Hammond took the proffered sheet and read:—
En Route to Kam City, Sept. 23.
Hon. J. J. Slack, M.P.,
Pres. North Star Co.,
Kam City, Ontario.My dear Slack:—Am under immediate necessity of finding a berth out in the woods for the bearer, Louis Hammond. Put him on at a clerical job, not too arduous, at a good salary and charge the latter up to my account. Please do so as quietly as possible, as it is highly essential that my connection in this matter should remain absolutely confidential. Yours very truly,
Norman T. Gildersleeve.
“Now, Mr. Hammond,” Gildersleeve went on as he sealed and addressed the envelope, “we’ll consider the matter closed for the present. Sorry for the terrific rush, but there is an emergent matter that presses for my immediate attention.”
He arose and grasped the young man’s hand. That strong grip was reassuring, but it did not altogether dissipate a presentiment growing on Hammond that he had let himself in for something that was even more potential in its possibilities than it looked to be on the surface. There was no more to be said, however, unless he changed his mind and threw up the whole thing. He had not the slightest desire to do that.