The Midnight Passenger by Richard Henry Savage (historical books to read txt) 📕

once in the rooms which you professed to share with him!"

"I acted under your father's orders," boldly rejoined Ferris.

"He is dead; it is useless to say that! No one will believe you. And you are lying to me now. You know and I know that Randall Clayton was no thief. I know, in my heart, and all men now believe, that he was murdered."

Ferris' teeth chattered as he faced the accusing woman. "I am innocent of all this," he faltered.

"Then, find his murderers!" solemnly said the rebellious wife. "You know the crime of the past which leaves its dread legacy of shame now crushing you. If you can aid the police, do it! You may communicate with our company's lawyers here.

"But if you interfere at the office, if you dare to approach me, you will be apprehended under warrants for robbing the private records of the man who was decoyed to his death among you. One word against my father's memory, one single hint of our marriage, and the jail doors will close on you."

"And, the future?" whispered Ferris. "Our lives are bound together."

"The law in one year will give me a separation for desertion," said Alice. "The divorce will be quietly obtained in the West; if you resist, you know the penalty! There is a gulf between us for Time and Eternity.

"My father's murdered confidence, your Judas plots to gain a motherless girl's hand, your wrecking Clayton's life! You can purchase your safety in but one way: by obedience."

The astounded husband raised his hand as she glided by him. He followed her dumbly into the front drawing-room, where the three lawyers waited for the end of the colloquy.

"It is understood, gentlemen," said Alice Worthington, "that Mr. Ferris has intruded upon me for the last time. I leave it to you to demand and enforce the absolute protection of my privacy. Nothing can induce me to consent to another interview, or to answer any further communications."

There reigned a dismal silence in the room as Alice Worthington glided out into the great hall. Standing on the lowest stair, she turned, a desolate and pathetic figure, with the golden hair rippling over the marble brows.

She steadied herself with one arm, and a slight cry of affright trembled upon her parted lips as Ferris sprang forward, crying "For God's sake, hear me! Just one word!"

But Boardman's heavy, restraining hand grasped the deserted husband's arm. "Mr. Ferris," he gravely said. "Our future course will be dictated by your behavior. You must only communicate with the Trading Company's lawyers on these affairs. As to the Worthington Estate, there is our representative, Mr. Witherspoon. And, in the interests of justice, bestir yourself now to find Randall Clayton's murderer.

"The chief of police has his eyes specially upon you, and so, I give you a fair warning."

Ferris, with flashing eyes, essayed to speak, but Boardman significantly ushered him to the door. "It is peace or war, as you will have it! We three men have all the secrets of the past. If you attempt, in the slightest degree, to annoy our principal, we will strike, and without mercy."

As the defeated husband drove home along the leafy borders of the beautiful Central Park - the one lovely oasis in New York's scattered maze of brick and iron monstrosity - he saw his life lying sere and yellow around him, his bare uplands scorched before their time.

"Ruin, ruin," he murmured, and a craven fear now possessed him - a fear born of his ignorance of the awful remorse of the dying hours of the Croesus, the moneyed giant cut off in the midst of all his schemes!

"How much do they know?" he murmured.

Rage filled his stormy heart; he would have struck back as madly as the blind rattlesnake but for the craven fears which now assailed him.

"I must await my time for revenge," he muttered. "One touch of publicity in this, and Senator Dunham would chase me out of America. He must, at the last, protect me, if only to save himself."

Stunned by the sudden onslaught of the girl whom he had supposed to be but a pliant, hoodwinked child, Ferris sat long pondering gloomily in his rooms at the Fifth Avenue, his head buried in his hands.

The weary hours passed in alternations of rage and despair. Haggard-eyed Ferris sprang to the door in the early evening gloom, as a sharp knock roused him. When Policeman Dennis McNerney entered, he gazed wonderingly at the young lawyer.

"What's come over you?" demanded the officer. "You have heard the news? I did not dare to go up to the office, and so I waited till you had finished your dinner."

Ferris wearily gazed at his visitor. "What do you mean? I'm sick. I'm going away for a change, and I've turned the whole thief-catching business over to Stillwell, the company's lawyer."

The policeman stepped back and softly locked the door.

"See here, Mr. Ferris," he soberly said. "You should not leave till the whole thing's cleared up. If you don't want me to follow up your private inquiry, just say so." He handed to the astonished man an evening paper. There, marked with a great scrawl, was a brief item.

"BODY FOUND IN RIVER"

"Was That of a Young Man of Evidently Good Station - No Clue as to the Deceased's Identity - Another Mysterious Crime."

"A body was found this morning in the East River off the foot of Baltic Street, Brooklyn. It was that of a young man about twenty-eight years of age. The deceased was about five feet eleven inches in height, of light complexion and brown hair. It was entirely naked and considerably bruised by the contact of the wharves and passing vessels. There was no mark found upon the body, which is that of a man of apparent refinement and one unused to labor. It was found floating by an Italian boatman and taken to the morgue. It had been in the water about three weeks."

"Well!" demanded Ferris, his hand trembling, as he handed back the paper. "I have been on the lookout for your missing cashier," quietly answered McNerney, with a searching glance at the agitated man.

"I have watched the morgue and all the police reports. When I heard of this, I captured that Jew office boy, ran him over to the morgue in a coupe, and he and I instantly recognized poor Mr. Clayton. God rest his soul, all that's left of him!"

Ferris dropped into a chair, shivering violently. "It will be featured in all the morning papers," coolly continued McNerney. "There's your problem solved. The poor fellow was decoyed in some black-hearted, cowardly manner and done up for the stuff. It was no common gang who fixed him for fair," gloomily concluded the dissatisfied officer. "There were no marks of violence upon the body."

Ferris staggered to the sideboard and took a draught of brandy. "I wash my hands of the whole thing," he huskily said. "If you wish to follow it up, go and see Stillwell."

"That's all you have to say?" cried the now suspicious policeman. "I'm sick of the whole job, and shall leave town," sullenly answered Ferris, as he opened the door and said, "Call our affair off! I'll telegraph to Stillwell, and he can handle the company's interests."

Dennis McNerney watched Ferris disappear in the swarm of Broadway's evening loungers, and then directed his steps to Magdal's Pharmacy. "I'll take that boy under my wing; and the published reward must be mine. This cold-hearted brute may have had a hand in it. I'll watch him night and day, and let the boy get over all his fears. Inside of a month I'll find that woman, the hack-driver, and perhaps this lame duck caught in the meshes. I'll lay low for a week, but that boy and that woman shall tell their story to me alone, and it's worth a fortune. I fancy I see daylight. It's a case of soft and easy. Once the boy would be frightened, I would lose this blind trail forever!"


CHAPTER XII.

THE LONELY PURSUER.


Arthur Ferris was secluded from all callers in his rooms at the Fifth Avenue Hotel until late on the morning when a million people read the "featured" details of the mysterious murder of Randall Clayton.

Exhausted by the mental struggle with his now defiant wife, he yet retained enough of his cunning to heed Policeman McNerney's roughly-given advice.

Ferris' rooms were littered with the score of newspapers over which he had been busied since daybreak, and his breakfast stood still untasted at his side. He wavered between his desire for self-protection and his fear of the hard-featured Stillwell.

In his own heart Ferris cared not a whit whether Clayton had been waylaid by accidental thugs, betrayed at the bank, duped by some insidious woman, or slain by an inner conspiracy of the employees.

"The money is gone, the cheques will probably be replaced," he grumbled. "Damn the company's interests! I am glad of their loss. The Worthington Estate will probably make it good.

"But I must go over and show up. I cannot afford to be suspected here. God knows what game is on, with Stillwell now as chief of scouts!"

He had decided to make a brief visit at the office, and to then visit Stillwell, and resign his vice-presidency, on the ground of ill-health. "I'll lay off then, watch the game, keep silence, and frighten them."

The long, weary hours of the night had brought him one consolation. As he reached for his hat and gloves, he laughed bitterly. "She may pay a round price to be rid of me, and then I'll keep all her secrets as well as mine! A kind of armed neutrality!"

At the door, he was confronted by the grave-faced captain of detectives. "You are wanted, Mr. Ferris, at once, at the company's office," sharply said the official, with a comprehensive glance at the room.

"Stillwell is there, and we wish to take your statement. We propose to avenge poor Clayton's murder. You were probably the last person who had a confidential interview with him."

"I know it," frankly answered Ferris, "and was on my way over when you knocked." The two men soon joined a silent circle of the higher officials of the company, gathered about Counsellor Stillwell, in Manager Wade's office. Ferris felt the freezing taciturnity of the detective on the short walk, and even more the greeting of the gloomy circle.

Bowing to Stillwell, the defeated schemer said, "Before we begin, I wish a word with you in private."

"There is to be no privacy here, sir," coldly replied the lawyer, "save the actions of the police. We are all equally interested in discovering poor Clayton's murderer.

"As you branded him as a thief, you can, at least, let us all hear your whole statement now. We have stenographers, a notary, and you can send for a lawyer if you wish counsel."

"I'll not delay you a single moment," resentfully said Ferris, springing to a writing table. He handed a few lines to the astonished attorney, and said, in a ringing voice, "Read that aloud! Let the secretary give me a written acknowledgment. Then, swear me, and I will make a voluntary statement."

There was a general murmur of surprise as Stillwell read the unconditional resignation of Arthur Ferris as vice-president, director, and