CHAPTER VIII
Slosson stared at the men facing him. Dorns he did not know; the sight of Windsor and Armstrong here together brought an angry glint into his eyes. One of those eyes was very discolored, his face was bruised and cut, and his right hand was half concealed in bandages.
"Come in, Mr. Slosson," said Windsor genially, yet with a certain repressed eagerness in his voice which caused Armstrong to wonder. "You know Mr. Armstrong, I think; this is Mr. Robert Dorns. We came over here in order that you and Mr. Williams might answer a few questions in regard to these affidavits, if you don't mind. Nothing compulsory at all. Mr. Armstrong merely wishes to satisfy himself on certain points. You look as though you'd had a pretty bad accident."
"I did." Slosson entered, dropped his hat on a chair, and himself into another. "I was robbed and dropped off my train—had a devil of a time. Well, what can I do for you?"
He flung a glance at Dorns which was half defiant, half alarmed. The name must have startled him. Dorns, being the man he was, took instant advantage of what he read in Slosson's glance, and leaned forward.
"I'd like to know," he said, hard of eye and voice, "just what took place at Armstrong's house when you called there—"
"Not so fast, Mr. Dorns," cut in Windsor coolly. "Mr. Armstrong is doing the questioning here, if you please, and so am I. Do you care to answer that question Mr. Slosson? This is a conversation among ourselves, understand, and not a matter of record."
"It's none of his business, then," shot out Slosson defiantly.
Windsor smiled in his cordial manner, and glanced at Armstrong.
"Do you care to ask the question now, or defer it?" he inquired.
Armstrong suddenly perceived something tense in the manner of Windsor, and this query startled him into swift thought.
"I'd like to see Slosson in your presence, or in private," he rejoined calmly. Under his look, Slosson's bold gaze wavered. "I'll defer my questions, if you wish."
"Very well, then." Windsor produced a cigar and mouthed it, unlighted. "Mr. Slosson, there's something I'd like to ask you myself. A check for five thousand dollars was made out to you by Consolidated Securities on the eighth day of April, Saturday last—"
"It was made out on—" The intervention of Williams was swiftly checked.
"Be quiet, please!" cut in Windsor curtly. "I'm asking this question."
Williams sat back in his chair, his furtive eyes filled with uneasiness. Windsor looked again at Slosson, who was frowning suspiciously. Armstrong and Dorns, equally puzzled to understand what Tom Windsor was driving at, awaited some clue.
"This check was made out to you on April eighth. I'd like you to tell me why it was given you—for what service."
Slosson was obviously doing some quick thinking. Windsor took from the desk the two checks and idly fingered them, as though the discrepancy in his dates were of no moment. Slosson darted a look at his partner, then made response with a shrug.
"Why, we put over a deal in the stock of a new company for Consolidated, and those checks were given in payment for our services."
"I see," said Windsor, and nodded. He regarded Slosson, a reflective look in his clear gaze. "Mr. Williams has already given us the details of the affair. You see, our friend Armstrong, here, suspected that there might be some connection between my case against him and Lawrence Macgowan. We are endeavoring to disabuse his mind of that impression, and it is important that both you and Williams be absolutely frank and open with me."
Slosson threw Armstrong an angry, defiant glance.
"You'll not get away with any of your fancy bluffs around here—"
"Just a moment, please!" intervened Windsor pleasantly. Both Armstrong and Dorns were now watching him keenly. Ried Williams was watching both him and Slosson, in uneasy and anxious suspense. "Mr. Slosson, I understand that you've had no further relations with Macgowan, beyond this transaction?"
"That's right," affirmed Slosson.
"These two checks are all that you have received or will receive?"
"Sure. We want nothing else to do with Macgowan or his company, I can tell you!" rejoined Slosson easily.
"Oh!" said Windsor. "But it is a most extraordinary fact that these two checks are dated yesterday—the tenth! Whereas, the other check, also in the sum of five thousand dollars, issued to you on the eighth—"
He paused meditatively.
In the moment of silence that ensued, Slosson realized that he had made a frightful blunder. As the others realized that Windsor must have some information of which they knew nothing, they tensed; the air of the room became charged, vibrant. Slosson burst out in a swift and angry denial, as vehement as it was inspired.
"There was another check, yes! I called up Macgowan about this ten thousand, on Saturday morning—told him we wanted the money. He said he'd mail out the check Monday. I told him that wouldn't do. He said he'd send me one for five thousand then, to my hotel, and would mail Williams another for five thousand on Monday, and I assented. That check was in my pocket when I was robbed. How the devil you knew about it, I don't know or care! I called up Macgowan long distance on Sunday morning, from the town where I was picked up, and he agreed to stop payment on that check and send me another with Ried's on Monday. That's how there were two checks issued."
In the eyes of Ried Williams gleamed admiration, but only for an instant. Windsor nodded assent.
"I see," he said suggestively. "Then of course your explanation can be easily proven."
"Sure it can!" blustered Slosson. "Call up Macgowan long distance and see."
A knock sounded at the door. The typist entered, and looked at Windsor.
"There are some people here to see you, sir—"
Windsor leaped to his feet. "I'll see them outside. Wait here, gentlemen!"
He went out, closed the door, but almost instantly was back in the room. In his hand was a slip of paper. He went to the desk, and then turned to Slosson. All the genial tolerance was suddenly gone from his air; here was the assistant attorney general, curt, crisp, suspicious. His words came like a whipcrack:
"Come here and endorse this check, Slosson. We'll send it out to a bank and have them call up New York about the number of this check."
Mechanically Slosson stepped forward. It was a moment before he could actually realize that this was the check, the identical bit of paper, of which he had been robbed. Then a tide of color leaped into his cheeks, and with an abrupt outburst of fury he caught up the check and tore it asunder.
"So you hired a thug to waylay me, did you?" he cried out at Armstrong. "Thought you'd lay a trap for me, did you?"'
The words died upon his lips as he perceived the absolute futility of speech. Williams had sunk back in his chair, ashen to the lips; Windsor was cold and accusative, though silent. Armstrong and Dorns were on their feet, eager, watching, tense. Then, in the moment of silence, Windsor went to the office door and opened it.
"Come in, please," he said. Jimmy Wren and Dorothy Armstrong entered.
Armstrong stiffened as he met the jubilant grin of Wren and looked past him to see Dorothy. Into her cheeks mounted a faint color upon meeting the gaze of her husband, but she was given no chance to speak, for the moment. Windsor addressed Jimmy Wren curtly.
"Wren, where did you get this check?"
Jimmy Wren regarded the bruised features of Slosson, and chuckled heartily.
"Out of that bird's pocket. We had a scrap on the train, and went over the rail—he was pretty drunk, and got a grip on my throat that's there yet!" He grinned again as a low exclamation broke from Slosson. "Didn't know me, did you? Well, I knew you, Slosson! Why, as to the check, Mr. Windsor, I took all the papers I found on him. Yep, deliberately and with malice aforethought, you might say. Got that check, and a few other things, and Mrs. Armstrong helped me figure matters out and then brought me here to see you. Looks like I'd landed right in the middle of a party, too! By the way, Windsor, here's a letter of introduction you might like to glance over. Macgowan sent Slosson to that Milligan law firm and told 'em to lay the town at his feet, and said what a good friend Slosson was—
"Give me those papers!" burst forth Slosson. "I demand—"
The huge hand of Robert Dorns dropped on his shoulder and crushed him into a chair.
"Sit there, me lad! Your demands don't go here."
From the broken figure of Ried Williams sounded a low groan. Windsor quietly glanced over the letter that Jimmy Wren handed him, and a flame shot into his eyes. He looked at Slosson with contempt, then turned to Ried Williams.
"So that offer of a job in New York was a bribe, was it?"
Williams swallowed hard. "It—Macgowan thought it—that it would repay you—"
His voice died out. Windsor swung from him. "Gentlemen, kindly remember those words. Mr. Armstrong, I withdraw all my previous words to you, and apologize for them. I'm going to the bottom of this thing—and I don't think the bottom's very deep now. Williams, here is your one and only chance: Do you wish to withdraw those affidavits in regard to how Armstrong handled Food Products stock, or not?"
"Yes," said Williams in a hollow voice. "Yes. They—we were mistaken about his part in things—"
"Very well," said Tom Windsor crisply. "Mr. Armstrong, I congratulate you. I'm going through with this thing whether you prosecute or not. Now, Williams, turn around to that desk and write out a statement for me."
Armstrong found Dorns pulling at his elbow. "Let me have a word with you outside, quick! Mr. Windsor, I'm glad to have met you; I want to catch a noon train for New York. Let me know if you want any testimony from me in this matter, and you'll get it."
Armstrong followed him outside and closed the door. Dorns turned and caught his hand in a hard, cordial grip that spoke more than words.
"We've done it, me lad—hurray! Talk quick, now. D'you want to prosecute Macgowan or will you make terms? Windsor is goin' after him anyhow, I take it."
"If we can chuck him and Findlater out of Consolidated, I'll make terms," said Armstrong promptly. "But we've no direct evidence on Macgowan yet—"
"Windsor's getting it now." Dorns grinned. "We'll take a leaf out o' Mac's own book, and arrest him anyhow. I'll get hold of Judge Holcomb to-morrow and we'll nab him for conspiracy. You see to it at this end that no warning is sent him. Trust me and Holcomb to arrange a settlement, will you?"
"Of course. But I'll want both him and Findlater out of the company."
"Listen!" Dorns tapped him on the breast. "When I get done with that crook to-morrow night, he'll be clean—clean! So long, and good luck. I got to rush. Where'll I wire you?"
Armstrong's face brightened in a smile.
"Wire me—well, wire me at Evansville, and hope for the best!"
Dorns clapped him on the shoulder, and was gone.
Armstrong went back into the private office. Slosson, in a dazed panic, had just been checked in an outburst of speech by Windsor. As for Ried Williams, he was a broken man.
"I have a little matter to settle with Slosson," said Armstrong quietly. "Strictly a personal matter, Mr. Windsor. Dorothy, will you kindly go into the adjoining office and wait for us?"
He received a smiling assent from her that made his heart leap, and she left the room. Windsor put out a hand to Armstrong.
"Hold on a second! What was that about Slosson being at your house?"
"That's what I'm going to find out now." Armstrong turned to Slosson. "Come along!"
"What for?" demanded the other with a show of defiance.
Armstrong answered very softly.
"Either you come or I'll force you. Why, you damned cur, do you want me to drag you in there by the collar?"
Slosson turned to the door without a word. Armstrong paused for an instant to grip the hand of Jimmy Wren, and to utter a quick word.
"Jimmy, you're all right! Watch out, now, that no warning message is sent Macgowan. I'll be back in a few minutes."
Dorothy was seated before the desk in Slosson's office. When the two men entered, she looked up at them; under her gaze, the sullen eyes of Slosson dropped.
"Our friend is going to tell us something, Dorothy." Armstrong motioned to a chair. "Sit down, Slosson."
The other man stole a half-frightened glance at him, flinching under the crisp asperity of the words. He was startled and perturbed at the very manner of Armstrong, which was all untouched by victory. The intoxication of that sweeping triumph in the other office had now gone entirely from him. No trace of emotion, of exultancy, of domination, showed in him. He was his usual cool self, as though this affair were of no very great import.
Yet to Slosson this imperturbable calm was terrible; behind it, he sensed an inexorable and frightful force which was moving to crush him. Despite his guilty conscience he did not entirely comprehend what was coming next. His own wretched blunders, the abject breakdown they had caused in Williams, his exposure at the hands of Jimmy Wren—all had left him confused and helpless. Behind his remnants of effrontery, he was conscious that he faced prison. All the fabric of his strutting and posturing had been stripped away. He beheld himself as these other people beheld him, and the reality staggered him.
"When I was away in Wilmington," said Armstrong, watching him closely, "you came one morning to my home. Suppose you relate what passed between you and Mrs. Armstrong."
A sudden pallor crept across the face of Slosson. According to the code by which men of his caliber lived and moved, he saw himself facing a retribution of swift and brutal personal violence—a bullet, perhaps. He knew no other code.
Then, as he hesitated, Dorothy spoke quietly. "I can tell you, Reese." Armstrong turned to her. He was conscious of a sense of relief in her manner, a gladness that everything at last was coming open before them. She went on, without heat:
"He came with a pretended warning for you, Reese. He had learned, he said, about this case of Tom Windsor's and wanted to warn you. Now I know that he lied to me. Also, he told me that you had robbed my father, that you had planned long ahead of time to take Food Products away from him—oh, it was so cleverly done, Reese! I was completely taken in. I had been led to suspect the Food Products affair, from little things—it was Macgowan all the time, making me think so! I believe now that it was all a terrible lie, Reese. Well, after Slosson went away, I called Jimmy Wren at Wilmington. He admitted that he had been in Evansville a month before our wedding—"
Armstrong nodded, no trace of any emotion marring the even calm of his features.
"Yes, Jimmy was there. We knew that Food Products was going under. Jimmy was observing the general conduct of things at the plant, and I was trying to formulate some method of saving the company."
"According to Slosson," and Dorothy looked squarely at the man, "Jimmy was then making arrangements with the directors to take the company out of father's hands!"
Armstrong laughed. "And according to Macgowan, Jimmy was then arranging to issue the stock, acting as a go-between from me to the old directors. Well, Pete? How about it?"
Under their gaze, Slosson whitened still further, wet his lips, could not answer. His whole cosmos of artifice and peacock lies had crashed down about him. No longer was he a fine arbiter of destiny, one whose subtle genius could control things around—but a petty trickster, unmasked, facing retribution. One could see the horror of this exposure, the bitter physical fear of Armstrong, working in his brain.
"Speak up!" snapped Armstrong. He moved slightly; a movement of swift restraint. It became suddenly evident that this calm manner of his was deceptive; his was the quiet of effort, of tension, of a sane mind controlling surging impulses. "Do you want me to make you speak, you cur?"
Slosson broke.
"No, no!" The wretched man threw out his hands in a miserable gesture of despair. "I—it was all false, Dorothy. It—that visit—Macgowan wanted me to do it all, to tell you those things—"
He paused. His dead and lifeless voice rang upon the stillness of the room with inert tones.
"He wanted you to think that—that Armstrong had robbed your father. He'd been working a long time to make you believe that. When you were in Evansville at Christmas, Williams said something that was meant to be overheard by you—"
He lifted his glance to Dorothy. What he read in her eyes caused the words to falter on his lips, brought a slow, deep tide of color into his face. He came to his feet and went stumblingly out of the office; nor was his departure stayed.
When the door had closed, Armstrong rose and went to Dorothy's side.
"Lady!" he said softly. She raised her face to him.
"Reese—can you forgive me?"
A happy laugh shook him as his arm went about her shoulders.
"Dear lady—forget everything but our gladness! Everything's won, but the best of all is that I've won you back. Nothing else matters now; Macgowan, all the rest of it!"
She was silent a long moment, trembling against him, blinded with quick tears of joy. Then, suddenly, she moved.
"Dear—is it true? That everything is won, and the fight over?"
"I think so," he said gravely. "Yes."
"I'm so glad! And I know what's in your heart, Reese, what your eyes are shining about! The sixteen thousand—"
"Oh, plague take the sixteen thousand!" His laugh rang out clear and vibrant. "It's you, my dear, you! Just ourselves, set right again."
A tremulous smile broke on her lips. "Yes—and I've been so jealous of those sixteen thousand! Now kiss me—and forget everything—"
Their lips met.