“They?” queried Wingfield.
“Um,” answered Walsh, looking out upon the snow-storm that raged in the narrow street. In the windows over the way blue shaded lamps in other counting rooms were lighted, and he rose to turn on his own. Wingfield saw that beyond the simple statement of fact Walsh would not go. Walsh was troubled. The light of the desk lamp sought out the deep lines of his face; his small gray eyes narrowed. Outside the door several of the clerical staff wondered at the length of the interview accorded by their chief to the tall gentleman with the dark beard. The fact that the shipping-clerk’s assistant had been dismissed in the midst of the call had sent a cold chill through the establishment: the old man, it was whispered, was out of sorts, and his state of mind they attributed to the malign influence of the tall person in spats.
“Of course the Colonel didn’t know,” suggested Wingfield.
“No; and that works into my general idea of what Wayne’s up to. Wayne had risen to the same fly but they failed to hook him. When he saw the Colonel about to swallow, bait and all, he lay low. It was the kind of thing he wanted. It tickled him to see the Colonel make a mistake.”
“You think the Colonel was trapped. He’s an old hand—he knows the world. He must have had a lot of chances to marry women of position and wealth.”
Walsh rubbed his face raspingly with his thick fingers.
“When a man’s sixty or thereabouts any woman that plays the game right can land him. If she’s young and pretty and naturally smart, he’s fruit—simply fruit! A vain man is the easiest mark; tickle him a little and he’ll goo-goo. We’re all chumps where the women are concerned, Wingfield; they nail us every time. The Colonel was bound to walk into the trap. Lord, man, even I’ve had ’em after me! A few yards of crêpe coming in to ask my advice about managing their property; sympathy gag; helpless woman; no one to appeal to; comes to Tom Walsh because of his success in business, his reputation for being square and so on. Now that I’m down here alone and the impression’s abroad that I’m a solid citizen, they’re looking me up rather more freely. While I was with Craighill the Colonel got all the crêpe. Now I’m getting my proper share of the business. They jolly me about my horses and say they think it’s so fine for a man to have some form of recreation. I tell ’em I always drive alone! But the Colonel shied at the widows, grass-fed and otherwise, and married a woman nobody ever heard of before. He probably thought he was doing a smart thing to cut out the local crowd. I guess Mrs. Blair wouldn’t have let him marry anybody in town. He did well, according to his light. The reel’s wound up and the fish is in the basket.”
“I fancy we’re neither of us deeply concerned about the Colonel; it’s Wayne we’d like to help; am I right?”
Walsh nodded gravely.
“I don’t think the woman is a bad woman. I went up to Mrs. Blair’s that night at the rash expense of a white waistcoat just to look her over. She’s pretty and friendly. I don’t suppose she’s buncoed the Colonel any more than he’s buncoed her. It’s about even. She struck me as being kind of pathetic, some way.”