He was the man who, more than any other, had been active in bringing disgrace upon Barry Lawrence—Julian Farr, the cashier of the Beekman Trust Company.
CHAPTER XX.
THE MAN WHO LOST.
For a second Barry stood with eyes riveted on the florid face, with its blue-black shadow of heavy beard darkening the clean-shaven cheeks and chin. Then he stepped swiftly back out of sight, and, turning, pretended to examine a painting hanging on the wall near by.
He scarcely saw the wonderful Corot landscape, however, for his brain was fairly seething with the discovery he had just made, the significance of which he realized in a flash.
Julian Farr received, to his positive knowledge, a salary of ten thousand dollars a year, and the manner in which he lived must use up every penny of it. Yet here he was gambling recklessly in a place like Dean's.
In an instant Lawrence knew where those missing funds had gone as surely as if the proof in every smallest detail lay before him.
Farr had stolen them! He was the thief who had so cleverly foisted the blame upon an innocent man's shoulders.
For a moment Barry was furiously angry. He wanted to catch the fellow by the scruff of his neck and thrash him within an inch of his miserable life. It was impossible, of course, and Barry knew it; but he wanted terribly to do it, just the same.
A passing wonder came into his mind as to how Farr could have had the nerve to show himself in such a place. Of course, Dean's was patronized mostly by the very wealthy members of the younger sporting set, and the Beekman Trust Company had a clientele made up almost altogether of shopkeepers, proprietors of lofts and the like, on the lower East Side. Two such extremes were scarcely ever likely to come together, but there was always a chance of discovery, as had been proved in this very instance.