CHAPTER V
Tom Windsor reached Indianapolis on Sunday, spent a few hours with his family, and the same evening boarded a train for Evansville. It was the same train from which Armstrong and Robert Dorns alighted. Windsor's business in Evansville was slight but highly important.
One who knew the reputation of Tom Windsor, would have visualized an altogether different type of man. He possessed a long, hard jaw; no mistake about that! For the rest, his appearance gave no indication of undue rigidity; quite the contrary, in fact. His cheerful smile was much in evidence, and he wore an air of alert optimism. He was a man of many friends, always in demand as a speaker at Rotarian or "uplift" banquets, and shared with Will Ross the distinction of being the most popular pall-bearer in southern Indiana.
Reaching Evansville toward noon, Windsor took his way at once to the hotel where he had a particular errand. He had relatives in Evansville, but was seeing no one this trip. He was keenly on the scent of the final bit of evidence that he desired to establish his case against Armstrong. In this case he was entirely ready to suspect anything and every one, particularly after learning in New York what a network of intrigue underlay the Armstrong-Macgowan battle. Windsor intended to be nobody's tool.
He went direct to the office of the hotel manager, whom he knew very well personally. He met with an uproarious welcome, and an offer of a quart of rye. All roads led to the river towns, from the earliest days of prohibition in the state.
Windsor waved aside the offer with his usual smile.
"Judge Sanderson'll get you yet, Norman, and up you'll go! But to-day I want another sort of favor. I'm going to lunch in your esteemed hostelry, and my time is short—I want the next train back to Indianapolis. While I'm lunching, will you look up your registers for last July? I believe a man named Wren was here, between the first and fifteenth, and I must verify the fact."
"Sure thing!" was the hearty response. "Everything in the house except the cellar is at the service of the law! I'll have the evidence waiting for you after lunch."
Windsor promptly repaired to the dining room. As soon as luncheon was over, he found the manager as good as his word. With keen satisfaction he discovered that Jimmy Wren had been here during the second week in. July, and he carried away with him the loose-leaf page of the register which confirmed the fact. The final link in his chain of evidence was complete.
He left the hotel, meaning to get a taxicab at the corner and spend his remaining half-hour in the city making a quick round of his relatives. As he came to the curb, he paused and turned. A passing car had swerved in suddenly, and he heard his name called. The chauffeur gestured to him.
Windsor stepped forward. The sedan door opened, and he found himself facing Dorothy Armstrong. She was leaning forward eagerly, her hand extended; and the startling change in her appearance since his last view of her, astonished and alarmed Windsor. He shook hands heartily, yet with the fervent inward wish that he were elsewhere. She could not know of the case on which he was working, yet—
"Get in, Tom, and I'll take you wherever you're going," Dorothy was saying. "There's something I want very much to ask you about. No, keep your cigar—I adore it, and you always picked such good ones!"
Windsor was caught off guard, and for once his ready brain failed him. He meekly entered the sedan, murmuring that he was on his way to the station.
"Then we can have a little talk," said Dorothy. "You're looking splendid, Tom, and I hear such fine things about you! Tell me—is it true that you're working on a case that involves Mr. Armstrong?"
For one instant Windsor was staggered, panic-stricken; even to the average eye Dorothy's condition was evident, and he hesitated whether to lie or tell the truth. Then he rallied, squared himself to meet pleas and protests, and the gaze that he turned to Dorothy was keenly alert.
"I can't discuss the matter, Dot," he said quietly. "I'm sorry, but—"
"Now, Tom, please don't be silly!" Her calm look disquieted him to a singular degree. "You have already answered my question. When I was in New York, I heard that you were about to involve Reese in some business matter, and I'm not going to ask you to discuss it in any way. But it's providential that we met, because there's something I want to ask you. And I'm not going to defend Reese or stand up for him."
Windsor could find no response, and waited. He was acutely embarrassed, but he was thoroughly on the alert. Dorothy's next words startled him afresh.
"Do you know anything about the business fight between Reese and a man named Macgowan?"
"Something," returned Windsor cautiously. The car was driving slowly along Main Street toward the railroad station, and he wished most heartily that it would quicken pace.
"Well," Dorothy spoke with an air of seeking exact words to express her thought, "for a long time I have known that Macgowan was seeking in every underhand way to hurt Reese, even in ways of which Reese knows nothing. Macgowan's a very clever man, Tom. I should like to ask you—and I think you can answer the question fairly—whether this present matter came to your ears, in any possible way, through or from Macgowan?"
Windsor considered this question a moment. He could discern no trap, and made up his mind to accept Dorothy's words at their face value. He turned to her.
"I understand what you're driving at, Dot," he answered quietly. "I'll be frank. Had it come to me through Macgowan, I'd have distrusted the whole thing, although I've never seen the man himself. But the affair came to me directly from two small investors in Food Products stock, who wrote in to the office about it."
"Couldn't Macgowan have prompted them to write?" she demanded sharply.
"Of course." Windsor nodded. "But they had nothing to do with the—the actual crime that was committed, Dot. I have traced that independent of any one else. The stock of this company was placed on the market in a fraudulent manner, that's all. I have absolute evidence that it was done by your husband. I'm sorry to say this; it's hard for me—"
"Never mind, Tom. I know you're only doing your duty, and I'm not trying to argue the point. It had, however, more than once occurred to me that behind this there might be the hand of Macgowan, and I meant to write you about the possibility. If there were any least connection with that man—"
"I get you," he said with a curt nod. "There is absolutely none! I've gone over everything very carefully to avoid that possibility, in fact. A relative of this same Macgowan is involved—you know Ried Williams, of course."
Dorothy caught her breath.
"Williams! But he hates Reese, hates him bitterly! And he's a cousin—"
"I know all that, Dot." Windsor smiled grimly. "Don't think for a moment that Williams came forward to tell what he knows! On the contrary, I went after Williams and forced him to a showdown; he's incriminated in the affair himself, you see. No, Dot, you may be sure of one thing—I'm trying to be just. I'm not letting any one use me for a tool if I can help it."
"I know, Tom, I know," she responded, and sighed. "Well, I suppose that's all. I know you can't talk about the case, and I don't want to hear about it. But, Tom! You'll be careful? You will? Not to let Macgowan reach you in any way?"
Windsor laughed shortly. "Do you think I'm easily reached?"
"Oh, you know what I mean. That man is so clever, and he hates Reese so vindictively! And he knows so well how to hide himself behind other people."
Tom Windsor patted her hand as it lay beside him.
"My dear Dot, I read law, as they used to call it, under old Judge Williamson—one of your father's best friends. He used to say that the law was an institution for the protection of honest men against rascals, but that the rascals have turned it into a protection against honest men. I've remembered that saying, Dot, mighty often; and as long as I have any connection with the practice of law, I'll try to keep the institution in its original channels. Well, I must say good-by—and I'm glad we've had this little talk."
"So am I, Tom," said Dorothy simply. He alighted and said good-by, and as he turned into the station, Dorothy ordered the car out into the country.
She wanted to get away from home, from town, from every one she knew, out into the open air. Her last hope, faint and half-cherished as it was, had been destroyed by this meeting with Windsor. Only within the past few days had the vague fancy arisen within her—that Macgowan might somehow be connected with the charges against Reese. Now it was gone. There remained only the bitter hurt of her mortal wound.
She knew well enough what she must now expect of the immediate future, and the thought sickened her. Even the sweet springtide all about her furthered the hurt; spring in the world, and winter in her heart!
For her life ahead, Dorothy could make no plans, could take no thought; it was bleak. In another month her parents would be home from Europe, and then something could be settled, some decisive course of action taken. She remembered how, after the wedding, she had surprised her father upon his knees, praying for her happiness; and he cheated and robbed in that very moment by the man she had just married!
It was hours later when Dorothy came home—to find Jimmy Wren awaiting her.