“Oh, let that go till we get to the bank!” said the president genially. “There’s a boy down there just dotes on polishing shoes. Save your strength and let him do it. This your hat? I’m sorry to hurry you, but I promised to see a man before the conference, and the time’s getting short. If you can just as well come now I’ll take it as a favor—”
He went. How could he do otherwise with Mrs. Summers smilingly blocking the way of escape upstairs, and the determined bank president urging him toward the door? He would just ride down to the bank. There could be no danger in that, and then while Harper was seeing his man he would melt away quietly into the landscape and be seen no more.
He climbed into the luxurious car with a sense of pleasure as of coming to his own surroundings once more, and rode down the pretty village street, his companion meanwhile drawing his attention to the buildings they were passing.
“This is the manse. You’ll like Mr. Harrison, I’m sure. He’s a marvellous humble-great man. If it weren’t for his humility he’d be nabbed up by some of the great city churches. Here the senior elder lives. He has two daughters you’ll meet. Nice girls. One’s engaged to my nephew. The big stone house on your right belongs to Earle Atherton, one of our Directors. Made his money in oil. Keen man. Next is the Stapletons’. Have a son in Harvard. You must have heard of him in athletics, Norton Stapleton. Fine lad! Good sense of balance. Comes home every year still unspoiled. Says he’s coming back to go in business with his dad. Not many like him. Yonder’s the Farrington-Smiths’. You won’t care for them. The girls all smoke cigarettes and drink, and the boys are a speedy lot. The town as a whole disapproves of them. They moved here from the city, but I hear they don’t care for it, call it dull. They’ll probably invite you. They are straining a point to get in with our best people, and the girls are really quite attractive in a dashing, bold sort of way, but you won’t want to accept. Thought it was just as well to let you know how the land lies. There! That’s the bank in the distance, that gray-stone front. We’ve made it on time after all. Now, we’ll go right in, and I’ll introduce you to the Vice-president. He’ll take you to our conference room. Mr. Van Lennup, I wrote you about him you know. He’s immensely pleased at your coming. He was another one who knew your father, you know. This way. Walk right in this side door!”
There was no escape, though he glanced furtively either way. The street was full of passers-by, and the sunlight was broad and clear. A man suddenly dashing away from his companions would excite much attention in the quiet town. He could not hope to make any possible getaway that way. He must bide his time and watch for a side door, a by-way somewhere.
They led him across a marble floor down aisles of mahogany partitions, through silently swinging doors to an office beyond, where he was introduced to the Vice-president. They went down a marble hall to an elevator and shot up several stories to a dim and silent room, with thick velvet underfoot and a polished table of noble proportions set about with lordly chairs. He perceived that he was in the inner sanctum of the Directors of the bank, and when the heavy door swung back with something like a soft sigh, he felt as if prison walls had closed behind him.
A young man who had been writing at the table rose, went to the wide plate-glass window and drew up the shade a little higher. Murray perceived that the window overlooked the street, and was too many stories above it to admit of climbing out and escaping that way. He was evidently in for a Directors’ conference unless there might be a chance when the others were all coming in for him to slip out as they entered, and make his way by the stairs to the regions below. Strange, he hadn’t expected this town was large enough to boast of high office buildings for their banks. But then he had seen it only in the dark. It must be larger than he had supposed.
Then the Vice-president shoved forward a chair for him to be seated, and paralyzed him by remarking:
“They tell me you were in college with Emory Hale, and that you two went to France together. That’ll be pleasant for both of you, won’t it? Emory has, I think, decided to remain in Marlborough all winter. He is doing some intensive study along scientific lines, you know, and thinks Marlborough’s quiet will be a favorable atmosphere for his work. He’s going to write a book, you know. Great head he has. By the way, you knew his father was one of our Directors? He’ll be here this morning. I met him as I came down. He says Emory wrote home that it had a great deal to do with his decision for the winter, your being here!”
Murray’s brow grew moist with a cold perspiration, and he sidled over to the window as his companion turned to greet a newcomer. Perhaps, after all, the window was his best chance. Perhaps it was the best thing to risk it. They couldn’t arrest a dead man, could they, even if they did recognize him? But yet, if he should break both legs, say, and have to lie in the hospital and have officers visiting him—Hang it all! However did he get into a scrape like this? All for a row of buns and cakes! And a foolish girl who thought she recognized him! If he ever got out of this he would run so far and so fast that nobody would ever catch up with him again. He would change clothes with the first beggar whom he met, and chop wood for a living. He would do something so that he would never again run the risk of being recognized, and haled back to his home for disgrace.