Atherton drew a quick breath, and though he heard with emotions strangely mingled, yet sorrow was uppermost in his heart. With Blagden he had differed, and Blagden had played him false, yet he had admired the man's courage, his energy, his enthusiasm, while as for Mills, poor old Tubby had always been a genial, kindly boy. And there was moisture in his eyes and a tightening in his throat as the financier went on, "They played with fire, and the flame consumed them. Yet through no fault of their own. They played boldly for a high stake and they played well. They must have been brave, ingenious, shrewd--"
He paused; then slowly and thoughtfully continued, "I have lived for over fifty years. I have enjoyed this world. I have tried to observe and study both myself and my fellow men. But to me the most fascinating thing in life has been to watch Destiny play its game with us all. Do you believe in God?"
Atherton hesitated. "No," he answered, "I do not think that I do."
"My own belief," said the banker, "is in a God, but not the God of the Bible. Moore, the novelist, has described him in a phrase which I have always admired. 'The Greater Aristophanes.' Isn't that perfect? He is not the blameless, faultless God of Scripture, but infinitely more human. He is a humorist; sometimes a grim one. Doubtless I appear to you to be wandering, but I am not. Here is the point. This Greater Aristophanes has played with us all--with you and your friends, with me and my friends, with my family and with Bellingham, my secretary--weaving us all into a strange, fantastic web, and always on the side of your friends until the final moment. And then--a sudden humor seizes him--he changes sides, and allows a blow to fall on your head. You become ill--delirious--and in your ravings you lay bare the whole mystery which has puzzled me for so long, and incidentally, through no fault of your own, you sign the death warrant of your friends."
Atherton, overwhelmed, lay silent. "Then you know," he said at length, "what the burglary was for?"
For answer, the banker drew forth his watch, held it up before Atherton's eyes, and replaced it in his pocket. "I know everything," he said. "This was no time for half measures. Rightly or wrongly, your belongings have been searched, and I have found the paper which explains the whole affair."
The pause lengthened. Apparently, it seemed to Atherton, the banker was giving him time to assimilate this news, and surely he needed it. And more and more, as he reflected, grew his wonder as to what his position might be. Death had been meted out to Mills and Blagden for their knowledge. Why should he escape? Instinctively he glanced at the financier as if to read his thoughts, and as if he understood the look--indeed, as if he had been expecting it--Hamilton spoke.
"You are, perhaps, wondering," he said, "as to my attitude toward you."
"That," responded Atherton, "is precisely what I should like to know."
"I have been," the banker answered, "greatly puzzled, but it has seemed to me that we should have a moment's talk of a most confidential nature. And I am not," he added grimly, "going to extort any pledge of secrecy. Knowing the fate of Bellingham, of Mills and of Blagden, you will understand why I deem that unnecessary."