CHAPTER VII
Armstrong had arranged to start for Evansville four days before Christmas. He and Dorothy were to leave New York by a night train.
That same morning, he learned something that staggered him, frightened him, yet filled him with a great veneration and joy. When he looked across the breakfast-table at Dorothy, when he met the consuming happiness of her eyes, she had suddenly become like another person to him—another and more wondrous woman.
"You're not afraid?" he asked.
"Afraid? Good heavens, no! Reese, I'm the happiest woman on earth! Aren't you glad? You don't look it. You look frightened."
"I am, for your sake," he said, and smiled. "Oh, I'm happy too! I want to tell every one—"
"Don't you dare!"
"Oh, I shan't. But I should think you'd dread the long months ahead, and all the pain and suffering—"
Dorothy silenced him with a peremptory gesture as the maid appeared. Then, when they were alone again, she laughed gayly at him.
"You funny man! Everything's going to be wonderful—even the suffering. It's all we need to make us really happy, to give us a real home! Now, don't say another word about it, or that maid will suspect. You pay attention to breakfast or you'll miss your train."
"Be sure to put my bag in the car when John drives you in," said Armstrong, after the meal was over and he was leaving. "Have him bring you to the office about six, and we'll get dinner somewhere before the train leaves. Good-by, lady!"
In their parting kiss at the door there was a new tenderness, born of the knowledge lying in their hearts.
All the way to town that knowledge kept pounding at Armstrong's brain. His first awe and fear passed into a burning joy. Little by little, he began to visualize how from this minute everything was changed, how his plans and Dorothy's must be made to conform with greater events, how their whole scheme of things must be brought to defer to the arrival of this welcome guest.
Armstrong was quite determined on one thing. He must expend every energy to insure Dorothy's peace of mind during the months to come. Physicians would take care of the body; he must make it his business to see that, when this baby arrived, it should have an heritage of untroubled nerves in the mother, and a peaceful spirit.
"And I'll do it," he told himself. "Thank God, she's got plenty of plain common sense, and doesn't go into hysterics every time a pin falls! She shan't have one troubled thought in the whole time, if I can manage it."
Upon this resolve, he reached his office.
Almost before he had gone through his mail, a memorandum was handed in from the president's office. To his irritated astonishment, Armstrong found this to be a proposal to finance the National Reduction Company—the same turpentine scheme which Findlater had previously broached in vain.
Armstrong reached for his desk telephone. "I'd like to see Mr. Findlater at once."
"Mr. Macgowan is with him just now, sir."
"Ask them both to come over to my office."
A moment later the door opened and Armstrong nodded to the two men.
"Good morning. I'd like to see you, Findlater, about this National Reduction affair. Sit down and make yourself comfortable."
Findlater, who appeared rather nervous, drew up a chair. Macgowan lighted a cigar and stretched himself on the lounge across the office. He seemed to anticipate what was coming and appeared to be enjoying himself hugely.
"That is merely a tentative outline, reduced to writing," began Findlater, indicating the paper in Armstrong's hand. "I felt that perhaps in speaking of it I had not presented the matter fairly to you."
Armstrong regarded him for a moment, then spoke crisply.
"We may just as well have an understanding here and now, Findlater. I see the proposal is that Consolidated shall spend over a hundred thousand to finance the ideas of an inventor. Our stockholders get nothing for their money except the chance of experimenting in turpentine reduction. That's the idea, isn't it?"
"Yes," said Findlater aggressively. "Add to that, the fact that the inventor is personally known to and vouched for by me. His invention is a proven success. Once a plant is built, it will make big money from the start."
Armstrong glanced at the paper again.
"I note here that the whole thing seems cut and dried. For example, this item about stock. Fifteen hundred shares of the proposed Reduction stock are to be divided among certain directors of Consolidated Securities, as a free personal bonus. A bonus for what, may I ask?"
Findlater took courage from this quiet manner.
"For service," he returned. "Five hundred shares to you, since the Armstrong Company will naturally peddle the stock. Five hundred to me, for my personal interest in the affair. The other five hundred will be divided among Macgowan, for legal services, and our other directors."
Armstrong shot a look at his friend.
"You in on this too?"
Macgowan waved his cigar. "Henry C. Findlater is making the proposal; I'm not! It's all news to me."
Armstrong turned his attention to Findlater.
"Let's see. We finance this plant out of Consolidated funds, which belong to the stockholders of Consolidated. My selling organization takes this stock out and sells it to our investors. A good many of them buy it on our unsupported word, because they have faith in us. They pay so much down, so much per month, all out of their savings. Correct?"
Findlater, a bit puzzled, nodded assent.
"In other words," went an Armstrong, "you propose that we take an extremely long chance with a hundred thousand of trust funds, and employ the confidence of our investors to draw their money into the scheme also. For doing so, we split fifteen hundred shares of the stock free. This, Findlater, is nothing short of bribery. The whole scheme is a misuse of confidence; or, if you prefer the word—theft."
Findlater came to his feet, his face purple.
"I won't stand such words, Armstrong!" he cried passionately. "I won't stand—"
"Then get out," snapped Armstrong, who was white with anger.
Findlater stood motionless, silent, under that unwavering gaze. His flushed features betrayed a tremendous effort to hold his anger in check.
"You'll be damned sorry for this!" he said slowly.
"Is that a threat?" asked Macgowan, sitting up.
Findlater whirled on him. "Shut up! I've had enough of your hectoring and bullying; you change your ways or I'll make trouble!"
"Look here, Findlater," cut in Armstrong's quiet voice, and the other turned again. "You're under a three year contract to serve this company as president, in consideration of a thousand shares of Consolidated common. Let's have it straight, now. You're threatening me?"
"No, I'm not," said Findlater, trembling with rage. "I'm saying that you'll be damned sorry if you turn down this proposition! Some one else will take it up and make big money."
"Oh," said Armstrong, and relaxed. "Let them have it and welcome. That's final. Now, may I ask how you'll make trouble for Macgowan?"
Findlater mastered himself, and made response in a calmer tone.
"I propose to be treated as a gentleman, that's all. Mac comes in and orders me about like a dog; and I want it to stop! As for making trouble, that meant nothing. I—I think my nerves are jangled this morning. Since you won't consider the matter at all, that ends it."
"Conceded," said Armstrong, and held out the paper.
Findlater took it, nodded, and left the room.
Armstrong looked at Macgowan and smiled thinly. "You seem to be on the gentleman's nerves, Mac. An obstinate devil, isn't he?"
"He climbed off his perch mighty quick," returned Macgowan. "I don't know when I've seen a better job of dismounting from a high horse! Well, I must run along. See you later. You're leaving to-night?"
Armstrong assented, and Macgowan left.
There would be no further trouble with the nominal president, at least for a while, felt Armstrong. Blocked in his efforts to vote directors' salaries, he had conceived this other scheme of looting; he would now, doubtless, turn his attention to matters outside Consolidated.
So Armstrong forgot the matter of the National Reduction Company.
He picked up Jimmy Wren for luncheon, and found himself immensely benefited by that young man's eager exuberance. The Armstrong Company was to all intents under the hand of Wren, who was given a free rein like other of Armstrong's chief men; this vastly aided their self confidence and sense of responsibility, and any interference by Armstrong was made indirectly. It was good for the company to have men like Jimmy Wren feel that their executive ability was recognized and given scope to work.
Armstrong tried to induce Wren to join the Christmas festivities at Evansville, but met with an embarrassed refusal which vaguely puzzled him. He knew nothing of Dorothy's encounter with "Mrs. Bird Fowler." He did know, however, that of late Jimmy Wren had been not quite himself, and appeared to be in need of a vacation. Upon returning from luncheon, Armstrong took Wren to his own office.
"Come in and go over this Food Products campaign," he said. "There are one or two points I'd like to discuss—hello!"
He threw open the office door to disclose the figure of Macgowan, striding up and down the room. Macgowan swung around hastily and showed a disturbed countenance.
"Ha, Reese! I had to see you at once—something infernally bad! Come along, Jimmy; you're in on it too."
The manner of Macgowan was startling. Armstrong threw off hat and coat, and Macgowan went on speaking rapidly.
"It's a good thing this turned up before you left, Reese. I don't know just what to make of it. Either this is an outrageous lie, or there's something queer going on."
Advancing to Armstrong's desk, he spread out a letter. The other two men leaned over, reading it with incredulous eyes. It was addressed to Macgowan, was written from Seattle, and was signed by one Elmer Lewis, junior partner in a Seattle law firm.
"Lewis is an old friend of mine," said Macgowan. "He's straight."
The letter set forth that the Armstrong Company salesmen on the coast were using everything but violence in the effort to unload Food Products, were sticking at no misrepresentation. It went on:
"I am writing this, Mac, so you may stave off trouble. These Armstrong salesmen are using your name freely, in connection with obviously untrue statements.
"Since these stock sales appear to be managed from New York by mail, the matter may become serious. I understand that complaints have already been made to Washington, and that an investigation by the postal authorities may be under way."
Jimmy Wren straightened up with a grunt of disgust.
"This guy Lewis had better get investigated for mental chaos! Did you ever see anything to beat this?"
Armstrong looked up, frowning.
"Mac, what the devil can it mean?"
"How do I know?" Macgowan shrugged. "All I know is right there. If these men of yours are getting into trouble and making use of my name—"
"It's a lie from start to finish!" snapped Armstrong.
"There's something queer about this letter. Jimmy, do your coast reports show any such situation out there?"
"Not a thing," said Wren promptly. "The entire allotment of Food Products stock will be sold out before the coast men quit work, the first of the year. They are furious because we're quitting the territory. Looks like all they do out there is to show the prospect where the dotted line is. This letter is bunk!"
"It's not that," returned Armstrong thoughtfully. "It's written by a friend who wants to save Mac from trouble. It's possible that some disgruntled investor has raised some kind of howl—"
"In such case," interposed Wren with some heat, "can't he turn in his stock and get his money back? Haven't we a standing agreement to protect every dissatisfied investor? Is there the least excuse for anybody running to the postal authorities?"
Armstrong shook his head. "It's past me. What about it, Mac?"
Macgowan had entirely lost his nervous air. He was watching Armstrong closely. Now he lighted a cigar, flourished the match, and responded with some deliberation.
"As you say, it's possible that some one has sent in a complaint; perhaps to a newspaper which has played the matter up strong. Maybe Lewis saw something in the paper and wrote me without knowing all the circumstances. Of course, the whole thing is absurd—"
"Your friend Lewis does not substantiate his statements," said Armstrong. "But if the authorities are starting any investigation, we want to know it! There's no foundation for anything of the kind, but the fact that we're under investigation will hurt us. There's no protection except by going direct to the source."
He sat down at the desk and took up the telephone.
"Get me the Dorns Detective Agency. I want Robert Dorns personally."
Macgowan swung around as though he had been shot.
"Wait! Give me a word first!"
At this swift, imperative command, Armstrong's eyes widened. He had never heard Macgowan use such a tone. He told the operator to hold up the call.
"What is it, Mac?"
"Just this. If you call Dorns into the matter, he may cause trouble—"
"He's the biggest detective in the country, absolutely responsible."
"Sure. At the same time, the matter can be better handled from the inside. I'll run down to Washington to-night. You know, I have a good many friends there, Federal men and others. If any investigation is going on, I can check it quicker than Dorns could."
"I don't want it checked!" said Armstrong angrily. "I want everything wide open! And I want these reports run down to the ground!"
"Leave that to me," returned Macgowan, with assurance. "Wren can give me all his letters and instructions to agents. I'll guarantee to satisfy the postal men in an hour's time. Then I'll take up the letter itself with Lewis and see what's back of it; I'll wire him at once, in fact. You'll do better to keep these things in the family, Reese, than to call in any outside help."
Armstrong considered this, and found it good. That any breath of suspicion should be cast on his methods, angered him intensely; on the other hand, there was so obviously some inexplicable mistake involved that it behooved him to go slow.
His business was founded upon confidence. The only way in which Consolidated could be attacked, the only way in which Armstrong himself could be attacked, was by attacking the confidence of the thousands of investors. That this letter from Seattle indicated any such attack, never for an instant occurred to him.
"All right," he said at length. "Take care of it in your own way, Mac. Advise me at Evansville just what's behind this, or what's going on."
Macgowan assented briefly, and seized his things. If he were to catch the Washington flyer that night, he had much to do. When he had departed, Jimmy Wren frowned and lighted a dead cigar.
"Mac was sweating. All worked up; notice it? Hope he'll handle things right. I'm off to wire the coast. If I get any answers before you leave, I'll let you know."
Armstrong found himself alone.
Gradually his indignation died away. Nothing so stings the soul of a man as injustice, and the entire content of that Seattle letter was false to the core—falser even than Armstrong dreamed at the moment. It was not the threatened trouble which hurt, not the warning sent Macgowan, but the black falsity of the whole affair.
Armstrong laughed at the thought of heading off the threatened inquiry. Any probe into the methods of Consolidated or of the Armstrong Company, would only result in exoneration. That the salesmen were misrepresenting Food Products was ridiculously untrue. Armstrong knew his salesmen.
"Yet that letter worries me," thought Armstrong. "I wish now that I'd gone ahead and employed Dorns. Why the devil was Mac so worried over a Federal inquiry? We've nothing to fear from that end. Something queer about it all; I don't savvy it."
At this moment he remembered the promise he had made to Dorothy.
The thought disturbed him. That request had not been empty words. When she asked for his promise, she meant exactly what she said; perhaps, he reflected, that request of hers had some unguessed reason behind it.
Armstrong frowned. He realized that now he must either break his promise to her, or keep it. Some such emergency as this, some such threat of trouble, was just what she must have had in mind when she had extracted the promise. Business was no overwhelming mystery to her. Yet this letter from Seattle—nonsense! There was no trouble here. The whole thing was absurd. Nothing could come of this; there was no basis. And just now the important thing was to keep Dorothy's peace of mind secure and serene.
"I wouldn't bother her now if the whole organization were collapsing—which it's not!" thought Armstrong.
At four-thirty Jimmy Wren appeared beaming, and displayed a telegram from the Seattle sales manager, branding the report as wholly false. There was not a single dissatisfied investor in the coast territory, so far as was known.
"Want to stop Macgowan?" asked Wren. "I can catch him at his office."
"Let him go," said Armstrong. "If there's anything at all in this, he'd better ferret it out and kill it. You wire the Seattle manager to investigate Elmer Lewis. That letter looks queer to me. Let me know at Evansville what you learn."
When Armstrong met Dorothy for dinner, he had dismissed the affair from his mind, and said nothing to her about it.