“Did you ever get hold of that trunk, the one I checked for you to Chicago when you were telephoning Krutzmacht’s office to inquire about Lorilla’s health?”
“It had disappeared before I was able to claim it. I suppose it went in the unclaimed baggage sale.”
“Never—it was too soon. She’s got it!”
“I don’t believe there was anything in it except some ledgers and letter files that might interest the railroad people.”
“A will?”
“Perhaps. But I doubt it. She would have used it before this!”
The secretary seemed more concerned over the situation than did Brainard. The latter said musingly as he dropped his cigar into the ashes:
“Of course, if there is no Melody, or if I can’t find her, which amounts to the same thing, that woman might as well have the money as anybody else. At least, a reasonable amount. Krutzmacht probably owed her liberal compensation.... But I shan’t give up my belief in Melody until the courts compel me to!”
“You don’t mean that you would let that Walters woman have the money?” the younger man demanded in astonishment.
“Farson, you don’t understand. I suppose it seems absurd to you—it does to me at times. But I have never for one moment considered myself the owner of Krutzmacht’s millions—never! I suppose that has given me my freedom of action, my feeling that I could do things like this theater,—not for myself. In my own mind I was always acting for some one else. It may be all imagination, but if it is, Melody just as an idea has helped me tremendously,—to keep my hands clear, not to be corrupted by the large sums of money at my disposal,—to make a man of me! It’s a mighty helpful thing to be in the position of trustee to some unknown person. It might solve some of our hardest economic problems if more of our wealth was held on the same terms. I can’t explain it all, but it makes you free really not to have a cent of your own!”