Held to Answer: A Novel

by Peter Clark MacFarlane

The feeling that they were to be honored with bearing a part of the burden of the big man whom they loved so deeply stirred the emotions of the little group almost beyond control. Dick moved first, clutching his uncle's hand.

"You bet your life!" he blurted, then turned and bolted from the room. Tayna next flung her arms about her uncle's neck and wet his cheek with scalding tears, then dashed away after Dick. Last of all, Rose stood with her hands upon his shoulders. She was taller for a woman than he for a man, and could look almost level into his eyes.

"My brother!" she said significantly. "My strong, noble, innocent"—and then a gleam of light shot into her eyes as she added—"my triumphant brother!"

"My bravest, truest of sisters!" The big man breathed softly, and drawing the woman to him imprinted that kiss upon the forehead which, seldom bestowed, marked when given his genuine tribute of respect and affection to the woman who, older than himself by ten years, had been the mother to his orphaned youth and had created the obligation which, uncharged, he none the less acknowledged and had striven to repay by a life of conscientious devotion to her and to her children.

The door closed after her "Good night", and John stood alone glancing reflectively about the long, book-lined room. Here many of his greatest experiences had come to him. Here he had caught the far-off kindling visions of that rarely human Galilean, with his rarely human group about him, trudging over the hills, sitting by the side of the sea, teaching, healing, helping. Here he had caught the vision of himself following, afar off, two thousand years behind, but following—teaching, healing, helping—in His name.

The telephone rang, its sharp, metallic jingle shocking the very atmosphere into apprehensive tremors. Yet instantly recalled to himself and to the new height on which he stood, Hampstead lifted the receiver with a firm hand and replied in an even, measured voice: "The Sentinel?—Yes—Yes—No—There is nothing to say—Absolutely!—I do."

The receiver was hung up. The only change in Hampstead's voice from the beginning to the end of this conversation, the larger part of which had taken place upon the other end of the line, was a deepening gravity of utterance. In a few moments the 'phone rang again. It was The Press. The papers all had the story now. The Oakland offices of the San Francisco papers were also clamoring. Each wanted to know what the minister had to say to the damning discovery of the diamonds in his box.

For them all Hampstead had the same answer: "I have nothing to say—yet." Some of the inquisitors cleverly attempted to draw the clergyman out by suggesting that there was plenty of opportunity for a countercharge that the diamonds had been planted in his box, since it was improbable in the last degree that a man of ordinary intelligence would conceal stolen diamonds in a safe deposit box held in his own name, the key to which he carried in his own pocket; but the self-controlled man at the other end of the telephone fell into no such trap. To direct attention to an inquiry as to who had visited his vault, or might have visited it, during the time since the diamonds were stolen was the last thing the minister would do. Already he had reasoned that the vault custodian on duty in the morning, knowing that Hampstead had not been to the vault during the day, but that Assistant Cashier Burbeck had, would do some excogitating upon his own account; but the minister reflected that this would not be dangerous, since the custodian, sharing in the very great confidence which Rollie enjoyed, would conclude that this young man had been made the innocent messenger for depositing the diamonds in the vault, and for the sake of unpleasant consequences which might result to the bank, would no doubt keep his mouth tightly shut.

The last call of all came from Haggard, whose city editor had just told him that the minister declined any sort of an explanation. Haggard was managing editor of The Press and Hampstead's true friend.

"Do you know what this does to your friends?" demanded Haggard passionately. "It makes them as dumb as you are. I know you; you've got something up your sleeve. But this case isn't going to be tried in the courts. It's being tried in the newspapers right now. Once the court of public opinion goes against you, it's hard to get a reversal. And it's going against you from the minute this story gets before the public—our version of it even—for we have got to print the news, you know. We've never had bigger."