The Red Seal

by Natalie Sumner Lincoln

“I'll have these notes ready for your signature before lunch,” he said as he picked up a newspaper from the floor where it had tumbled during Kent's search for some particular letter heads. “I brought in the morning paper, sir; thought perhaps you had not seen it.”

“Thanks.” Kent swung his chair nearer the window and opened the newspaper. He had purchased a copy when walking through Union Station on his arrival, but had left it in the cafeteria where he had snatched a cup of coffee and hot rolls before hurrying to his office.

He read a column devoted to international affairs, scanned an account of a senatorial wrangle, and was about to turn to the second page, whistling cheerily, when his attention was arrested by the headings:

BANK CASHIER DIES IN POLICE COURT
JAMES TURNBULL, MISTAKEN FOR BURGLAR,
SUFFERS FATAL ATTACK OF ANGINA PECTORIS

Kent's whistle stopped abruptly, and clutching the paper in both hands, he devoured the short account printed under the scare heads:

“While masquerading as a burglar on a wager,
James Turnbull, cashier of the Metropolis Trust
Company, was arrested by Officer O'Ryan at an
early hour yesterday morning in the residence of
Colonel Charles McIntyre.
“Officer O'Ryan conducted his prisoner to the
8th Precinct Police Station, and later he was
arraigned in the police court. The Misses
McIntyre appeared in person to prefer the
charges against the supposed burglar, who, on
being sworn, gave the name of John Smith.
“Philip Rochester, the well known criminal
lawyer, was assigned by the court to defend the
prisoner. Upon the evidence submitted Judge
Mackall held the prisoner for trial by the grand
jury.
“It was just after the Judge's announcement
that 'John Smith,' then sitting in the prisoners
cage, was seized with the attack of angina pectoris
which ended so fatally a few minutes later.
It was not until after he had expired that those
rendering him medical assistance became aware
that he was James Turnbull in disguise.
“James Turnbull was a native of Washington,
his father, the late Hon Josiah Turnbull of
Connecticut, having made this city his permanent
home in the early '90s. Mr. Turnbull was looked
upon as one of the rising young men in banking
circles; he was also prominent socially, was a
member of the Alibi, Metropolitan, and Country
Clubs, and until recently was active in all forms
of athletics, when his ill-health precluded active
exercise.
“Officer O'Ryan, who was greatly shocked by
the fatal termination to Mr. Turnbull's rash
wager, stated to the representatives of the press
that Mr. Turnbull gave no hint of his identity
while being interrogated at the 8th Precinct
Station. Friends attribute Mr. Turnbull's
disinclination to reveal himself to the court, to
his enjoyment of a practical joke, not realizing
that the resultant excitement of the scene would
react on his weak heart.
“Mr. Turnbull is survived by a great aunt; he had
no nearer relatives living. It is a singular
coincidence that the lawyer appointed by the
court to defend Turnbull was his intimate friend,
Philip Rochester, who made his home with the
deceased.”

Kent read the column over and over, then, letting the paper slip to the floor, sat back in his chair, too dumb-founded for words. Jimmie Turnbull arrested as a burglar in the home of the girl he loved on charges preferred by her, and defended in court by his intimate friend, both of whom were unaware of his identity! Kent rumpled his fair hair until it stood upright. And Jimmie's death had followed almost immediately as the result of over-excitement!

Kent's eyes grew moist; he had been very fond of the eccentric, lovable bank cashier, whose knack of performing many a kindly act, unsolicited, had endeared him to friends and acquaintances alike. Kent had seen much of him after his return from France, for Jimmie's attention to Helen McIntyre had been only second to Kent's devotion to the latter's sister, Barbara. The two men had one bond in common. Colonel McIntyre disliked them and discouraged their calling, to the secret fury of both, but love had found a way—Kent's eyes kindled at the recollection of Barbara's half-shy, wholly tender reception of his ardent pleading.

Turnbull's courtship had met with a set-back where he had least expected it—Philip Rochester had fallen deeply in love with Helen and, encouraged by her father, had pressed his suit with ardor. Frequent quarrels between the two close friends had been the outcome, and Jimmie had confided to Kent, before the latter left on the business trip to Chicago from which he had returned that morning, that the situation had become intolerable and he had notified Rochester that he would no longer share his apartment with him, and to look for other quarters as quickly as possible.

So buried was Kent in his thoughts that he never heard Sylvester's knock, and it was not until the clerk stood at his elbow that he awoke from his absorption.