“Promise to be a decenter man and to let Mr. Tracy alone in future; meanwhile, to send a wire in his secret code saying he has changed his mind. It will not surprise his crowd. He never confides in them, and he expects them to obey blindly anything in that code language. I reckon other telegrams are just for show, and they don’t notice them much.”
The colonel took a turn around the room to pack away this information in an orderly fashion in his mind. Mercer waited patiently; he had said truly that he was used to waiting. Perhaps he supposed that Winter was trying the case in his own mind; but in reality Rupert was seeking only one clue, as little diverted from his purpose as a bloodhound. He began to understand the man whose fixed purpose had his own quality, but sharpened by wrong and suffering. This man had not harmed Archie; as much as his warped and fevered soul could feel softer emotions, he was kindly intentioned toward the lad. Who had carried him away, then? Or was he off on his own account, really, this time? Or suppose Atkins, the missing secretary discharged at Denver, coming back for another appeal to his employer, finding Keatcham gone, but, let one say, stumbling on some trace of mystery in his departure; suppose him to consider the chance of his having his past condoned and a rosy future given him if his suspicions should prove true and he should release the captive—wouldn’t such a prospect spur on a man who was as cunning as he was unprincipled? Mightn’t he have watched all possible clues, and mightn’t he have heard about Archie and plotted to capture the child, thinking he would be easily pumped? That would presuppose that Atkins knew that Archie was at the Arnolds’ or—no, he might only have seen the boy on the street; he knew him by sight; the colonel remembered that several times Archie had been with him in Keatcham’s car. It was worth considering, anyhow. He spoke out of his thoughts: “Do you think Keatcham could have told the truth, and that code of his be lost or stolen? Why couldn’t Atkins have stolen it? He had the chance, and he isn’t hampered by principle, you say.”
Mercer frowned; it was plain the possibility had its argument for him. “He might,” he conceded, “but I doubt it. Why hasn’t he done something with it? He hasn’t. They wouldn’t have postponed that meeting if he had wired his proxy and his directions in the code. He’d have voted his employer’s stock. He’s got too much at stake. I happen to know he thought it a sure tip to sell short, and he has put almost all he has on it. You see, Keatcham was banking on that; he knew it. He thought Atkins wouldn’t dare give any of his secrets away or go against him in this deal, because they were in the same boat.”
“Still, I reckon I’ll have to see Keatcham.”
Mercer shook his head, gently but with decision. “I hate to refuse you, Colonel, but unless you promise not to interfere, it is impossible. But I’ll gladly go with you to see if we can find any trace of Archie. I’ll risk that much. And if you will promise—”
“Such a promise would be impossible to an officer and a gentleman,” the colonel urged lightly, smiling. “Besides, don’t you see I have all the cards? I have only to call in my men. I’d hate to do it, but if you force me, you would have no chance resisting.”
“We shouldn’t resist, Colonel, no, suh; your force is overwhelming. But it would do no good; you couldn’t find him.”
“We could try; and we may be better sleuths than you imagine.”
“Then it would be the worse for him; for if you find him, you will find him dead.”
There was something so chilling in his level tones that Winter broke out sharply: “Are you fooling with me? Have you been such an incredible madman as to kill him already?”