CHAPTER IX
Jimmy Wren refused to utter a word until behind closed doors. Armstrong led him upstairs to the library, while Dorothy, discovering that Wren had eaten nothing since the previous day and had just come in on the morning train, ordered Uncle Neb to fetch something after them.
In the library, Armstrong procured a bottle of whisky, poured a stiff drink for Wren, and forced him to swallow it. Dorothy closed the doors.
"All set, Jimmy," said Armstrong, watching Wren calmly. "What is it?"
"Trouble," blurted Wren, desperation in his face. "Federal investigation—indictments! We're all going to be indicted—you and me, all of us! By this time there's been a fraud order issued against us. The business is wrecked. We'll be arrested—"
From Armstrong broke a laugh of angry incredulity.
"Man, are you drunk? What's wrong with you?"
Wren stared at him from terrible eyes.
"What's wrong with me? I don't know—except that, maybe, I've always trusted you, Armstrong! If you've lied to us, deceived us, then you'll land us all in jail. Nothing's wrong with me if—if you're straight. Nobody knows that except you. Because I had faith in you, believed in you, I came straight here—Macgowan didn't want me to, and said he might get things settled without bothering you—but it's gone too far. If they close up the business—"
Armstrong's hand gripped his shoulder and set him back in the chair from which he had half risen in his excited burst of speech.
"Sit down, Jimmy. There must be a cursed good explanation of what you've just said! Take it easy, now. Start at the beginning of all this nonsense. Let's have all that has happened. Did Macgowan go to Washington the night I left New York?"
"Yes. He didn't know what Findlater was up to. Nobody did."
Armstrong's eyes glinted. "Findlater! What's he done?"
"I guess he was back of that letter from Seattle."
At this moment Dorothy interposed. She had been watching Jimmy Wren, a pallor rising in her face. Now she looked at Armstrong and spoke.
"What letter do you mean?"
Armstrong was burning with anxiety to hear what had happened. The business wrecked, indictments in the air, Jimmy Wren in wild panic—all this meant some disaster out of the blue. Something inconceivable had been going on in New York. He was profoundly stirred by Wren's almost incoherent words.
It was characteristic of Armstrong that, apparently cool as ever, he now turned to Dorothy and quietly told her of the letter Macgowan had received from Seattle. His poise had an immediate effect on Jimmy Wren.
"Why did you keep all that from me?" asked Dorothy. "Did you forget that promise you made me, Reese?"
She checked herself. Something in her eyes frightened Armstrong; some singular quality in her voice startled him.
"It was not worth bothering you with, dear," he responded. "It seemed too trivial, too small! It was evidently some mistake. It's impossible that there could be anything back of it. Now, Jimmy—ah, here's Uncle Neb!"
Armstrong rose, brought in the tray of food, set it before Wren. He returned to his own chair and lighted a cigar, repressing his impatience anew.
"Get a bite to eat, Jimmy, and straighten up. Then let's have the whole thing."
Wren obeyed, for he was dominated by Armstrong. After a few bites, he turned from the tray, to the anxious eyes fastened upon him.
"Mac came back from Washington and said everything was cleared up," he began, speaking more calmly now. "Then, two days ago, Findlater came into the office and took off the roof. He had received a letter from Spokane, like the one Mac got, and he also had a letter from Washington. It seems that his name had been used out West, and he was wild about it—going to sue the Armstrong Company and so forth.
"While we were arguing with him, Macgowan and I, a postal inspector came in and ordered all our books opened to him. An investigation is going on this minute, Reese! Findlater is behind it all, we think—"
"Hold on," cut in Armstrong coolly. "The postal authorities don't investigate any one without cause, Jimmy. You know, and I know, that they have no just cause to go after us."
"But they have!" burst out Wren. "They have! There are a dozen complaints, letters from investors! They say the stock was misrepresented, that they've been tricked into buying it, that it was sold them by absolute fraud! Findlater is trying to have all the officers of the Armstrong Company indicted for perjury and fraud; he says he'll spend his last cent to keep his name clear of our doings! He was going to file suit against the company when I left—why, he told me he'd land every one of us in jail!"
Armstrong regarded his friend with judicial calm.
"Jimmy, is everybody in the office as badly stirred up as you are?"
"Just about." Wren made a despairing gesture. "Nobody knows what to think. Macgowan is working hard to protect us. Findlater swears that you've double-crossed the company, that you've deceived every one and are playing a crooked game—"
"Looks to me," said Armstrong, with a slight smile, "as though Findlater had sort of got your goat, Jimmy! I suppose he's been rubbing it in pretty hard, eh? Doing a lot of talking, eh? Well, you listen to me for a minute. First, when a man talks as much as all that, he's not particularly dangerous. Second, what does an indictment amount to anyway? Not a thing. Anybody can trump up charges and get an indictment."
Jimmy Wren's eyes widened at this.
"But, Reese! It means ruin—"
"It means nothing," said Armstrong crisply. "If Findlater is out to fight us, he can't do any real harm. What if he does get indictments issued? He can't get convictions—and indictments without convictions mean absolutely nothing. What does Mac say about it?"
"Mac is scared."
"What?" Armstrong was astounded and showed it. Wren continued quickly.
"Mac thinks that Findlater and his friends went to work and procured those complaints, and are behind the whole business. He thinks they started the investigation."
"But—did you say that Mac is scared?"
Wren nodded, miserably. "He told me so. That's what got me going. If Mac says we're up against it, then we are! You know it, too. Mac says that Findlater must have made all his plans a long time ahead, to take advantage of your absence right now, and that he wouldn't have started this thing unless he had the cards up his sleeve to finish it. I tell you, Mac is all up in the air! By this time a fraud order may be out against us, and if that's the case, Findlater can get us all indicted in no time!"
Armstrong glanced at his watch. It was eleven thirty. He looked up, regarded Jimmy Wren with a slight smile, and motioned toward the food.
"Eat, Jimmy; don't say another word, but listen hard. There's a train north at twelve five, connecting at Terre Haute with the Pennsylvania limited for New York. You're going to be back in New York to-morrow. I hate to make you travel on Christmas Day, but it's got to be done. Eat, now, and listen."
Indescribably impressed by Armstrong's manner, dominated by this cool refusal to find his news very terrifying, Wren obeyed the order. Dorothy sat in silence, her gaze fastened upon her husband.
Armstrong went on speaking, with that same calm deliberation which acted upon Jimmy Wren like a settling acid that reduced all his chaotic panic to order.
"There's nothing to be worried over, Jimmy. Stop and think. You'll realize that I have no secrets; the business of the company is entirely open, and the postal inspector is welcome to pry until Judgment Day. The farther he goes, the more convinced he'll be that we're all right.
"The stock has not been misrepresented by our men. Anybody can go out and find some stockholders who can be made to think that they've been deceived and robbed. Findlater is a fool to start anything of this sort; he's settled his own hash, that's all. Don't worry about his having any cards up his sleeve. He has nothing, unless it's more fraud. You go back and tell Lawrence Macgowan to keep his head."
Wren stared. "Aren't you coming?"
"Later." Armstrong smiled. He perceived that his own confidence and quiet certitude had already worked wonders in Wren's heart. "You go back and call a meeting of the directors of Consolidated Securities for Wednesday at eleven. Give no reason and tell no one that you've seen me—"
"But they all know I came to see you!"
"Never mind. Keep your mouth shut, Jimmy. Tell Macgowan and nobody else that I shall be present at that meeting on Wednesday morning. I want Findlater's resignation as president and director. I want every share of his stock bought up or taken away from him. You and Mac will use the voting trust to that end. In the meantime, tell Mac that if he can logically connect Findlater with this faked-up trouble, to start suit against him for conspiracy or anything else that's possible. Those are your orders."
"Good!" said Wren, his mouth full. "Fine! I'll do it. But I haven't any money, Reese; I haven't the price of a ticket back! I came away in a rush—"
Armstrong laughed, and glanced at Dorothy.
"Dear, will you be good enough to get my pocketbook? I think it's on the dresser."
Dorothy nodded, rose, and left the room. Armstrong's manner had had its effect upon her too; her pallor had departed, and as she left, she threw a reassuring smile back at Jimmy Wren.
Suddenly the latter started, looking up at Armstrong with new consternation.
"Reese—I forgot about it—meant to write you! It has nothing to do with this affair, but it's something you ought to know. I found it out the day after you left, while I was going through everything, trying—"
"Cool off, Jimmy. What is it?" Armstrong passed a cigar across the table. "Light that first, then spill the news. Discovered something?"
Wren nodding, lighted his cigar.
"You remember that when we put Food Products stock on the market, we simply went ahead and used the issue that Deming's directors had arranged for? They had secured licenses from the blue sky commissioners everywhere, you know."
Armstrong silently assented, his gaze on Wren.
"Well, I found something. In getting those licenses, Deming's directorate had sworn to facts regarding the financial condition of the old company which were untrue. About those assets we wrote off, among other things. They concealed the real shape of the company, in other words."
A whistle broke from Armstrong.
"Sure of that, Jimmy?"
"Positive. Nobody knows it, and probably it won't amount to anything. I asked Mac about it. He said to keep mum; that the Armstrong Company was not involved, and that we couldn't be held responsible for what Deming's directors had done. Besides, he thought there would never be any fuss made over it."
"Mac spoke the truth that time." Armstrong smiled. "This is the first I ever knew of it, but there's nothing to be done. That directorate was a sweet bunch of crooks, all right! We've nothing to fear from that angle, fortunately. Well, forget it! You get back to New York and don't let any one but Mac know that I'll be there Wednesday morning."
"Throw Findlater out, eh?" queried Wren, his eyes snapping excitedly.
"Neck and heels. Clear into the alley."
Dorothy returned, and Armstrong handed Wren a roll of bills.
"I've ordered a taxi," said Dorothy. "It'll be here in five minutes."
"Good for you, Mrs. Armstrong!" Jimmy Wren broke into a laugh. "I'm mighty sorry for the way I must have startled you. I was in a panic, that's all."
"Got over it now?" demanded Armstrong, his eyes twinkling.
"You bet! I must have been a fool to let Findlater work me up that way."
Armstrong accompanied Jimmy Wren to the station, and saw him off. The last state of that young man was considerably better than the first; whereas he had arrived an hour previously in the depths of violent and nervous panic, he departed beaming, radiating assured optimism.
"Jimmy's all right," thought Armstrong, as he went home from the station. "That devil Findlater simply knew how to drive him frantic, and did it! No wonder the whole office bunch is scared. The threat of indictment is enough to scare anybody who isn't absolutely sure of his standing. We'll soon show Findlater where he gets off!"
When Armstrong reached home, Dorothy was waiting for him, and drew him back upstairs to the library. He perceived that she was very serious; but not until they were alone behind the closed doors did she speak. Then, turning to him, she took his hands in hers and looked into his eyes.
"Well?" he asked, smiling. "Jimmy hasn't scared you, too?"
"No. Reese, there's something I must say to you now—no, I shan't sit on your lap! I have to keep my head clear, and if your arms are around me I can't think of anything else. Listen, dear! Do you remember our wedding day?"
"I hope so," returned Armstrong whimsically. "Don't you?"
But her serious, grave eyes did not respond to his flippancy.
"Macgowan was talking to me, Reese, just before that meeting here in the library. He went out of his way to say something to me that was quite needless. Now, it wasn't at all what he said, but what I could read in his mind as he said it that made me afraid of him. What he said, made me cry. What I could sense in his thought and his soul, frightened me!"
Armstrong was frowning. "Why, lady, this is the first time you ever mentioned such a thing! Surely Mac didn't—"
"He said nothing that was wrong, dear; but from that day I have feared him. Intuition, if you like. And now I want to warn you against him. That man is no friend of yours, Reese. He's using you for his own purposes. Don't trust him! Don't let him know your secrets! Be on your guard against him, always!"
Armstrong looked into her eyes, and for a moment her intense earnestness shook him to the very depths. Then his reason asserted itself. He remembered other things. Could this be a touch of jealousy? It could be nothing else.
"Dear lady," he said gently, clasping her hands in his, "I owe a great deal to Lawrence Macgowan. You don't ask that I break with him sharply, for no definite reason?"
"No, no!" she said, and caught her breath. "Oh, Reese! It's for your sake—that's all. I've nothing to go on. I can only feel, just as I have felt from the first, that there is something—something treacherous and deadly, in him! I don't want to make trouble between you. All I ask is that you be on your guard against him."
"Very well," said Armstrong quietly. "I'll remember the warning, Dot. More than that, I can't say now. I need Mac now more than ever, and can't afford to break with him. But I'll remember your words."
As she met her husband's intent gaze, Dorothy shivered slightly. Perhaps she realized how terribly unreasonable and baseless was her charge; perhaps she realized that Armstrong could not receive it as she imparted it—that he could not feel her aversion for Macgowan.
She knew that her warning was futile.
"Very well, dear,"' she said, and forced a smile to her lips. "Did I startle you?"
Armstrong nodded, gravely searching her face. "Yes, Dot. I've never thought of Mac except as a trusted confidant, a friend who would never fail me."
"There's only one person who'll never fail you, dear," she murmured, then started at a sound from below. "Oh—mother's home! Don't tell them about Jimmy Wren's news. It would only worry them—"
"Then pay me for my silence," exclaimed Armstrong happily.
Dorothy felt again that her warning had been useless. And she was right. As he went downstairs, Armstrong was thinking only of Findlater—and the following Wednesday.