The Cross-Cut by Courtney Ryley Cooper (ebook reader for surface pro TXT) 📕

of a worn, walnut table became immediately obsequious.

"Of course! Of course! Mr. Fairchild! Why did n't you say so when you came in? Of course—I 've been looking for you all day. May I offer you a cigar?"

He dragged a box of domestic perfectos from a drawer of the table and struck a match to light one for Fairchild. He hastily summoned an ash tray from the little room which adjoined the main, more barren office. Then with a bustling air of urgent business he hurried to both doors and locked them.

"So that we may not be disturbed," he confided in that high, whining voice. "I am hoping that this is very important."

"I also." Fairchild puffed dubiously upon the more dubious cigar. The greasy individual returned to his table, dragged the chair nearer it, then, seating himself, leaned toward Fairchild.

"If I 'm not mistaken, you 're the owner of the Blue Poppy mine."

"I 'm supposed to be."

"Of course—of course. One never knows in these days what he owns or when he owns it. Very good, I 'd say, Mr. Fairchild, very good. Could you possibly do me the favor of telling me how you 're getting along?"

Fairchild's eyes narrowed.

"I thought you had information—for me!"

"Very good again." Mr. Barnham raised a fat hand and wheezed in an effort at intense enjoyment of the reply. "So I have—so I have. I merely asked that to be asking. Now, to be serious, have n't you some enemies, Mr. Fairchild?"

"Have I?"

"I was merely asking."

"And I judged from your question that you seemed to know."

"So I do. And one friend." Barnham pursed his heavy lips and nodded in an authoritative manner. "One, very, very good friend."

"I was hoping that I had more than that."

"Ah, perhaps so. But I speak only from what I know. There is one person who is very anxious about your welfare."

"So?"

Mr. Barnham leaned forward in an exceedingly friendly manner.

"Well, is n't there?"

Fairchild squared away from the table.

"Mr. Barnham," came coldly; the inherent distrust for the greasy, uninviting individual having swerved to the surface. "You wired me that you had some very important news for me. I came down here expressly because of that wire. Now that I 'm here, your mission seems to be wholly taken up in drawing from me any information that I happen to possess about myself. Plainly and frankly, I don't like it, and I don't like you—and unless you can produce a great deal more than you have already, I 'll have to chalk up the expense to a piece of bad judgment and go on about my business."

He started to rise, and Barnham scrambled to his feet.

"Please don't," he begged, thrusting forth a fat hand, "please, please don't. This is a very important matter. One—one has to be careful in going about a thing as important as this is. The person is in a very peculiar position."

"But I 'm tired of the way you beat around the bush. You tell me some meager scrap of filmy news and then ask me a dozen questions. As I told you before, I don't like it—and I 'm just about at the point where I don't care what information you have!"

"But just be patient a moment—I 'm coming to it. Suppose—" then he cupped his hands and stared hard at the ceiling, "Suppose that I told you that there was some one who was willing to see you through all your troubles, who had arranged everything for you, and all you had to do would be to say the word to find yourself in the midst of comfort and riches?"

CHAPTER XVI

Fairchild blinked in surprise at this and sank back into his chair. Finally he laughed uneasily and puffed again on the dubious cigar.

"I 'd say," came finally, "that there is n't any such animal."

"But there is. She has—" Then he stopped, as though to cover the slip. Fairchild leaned forward.

"She?"

Mr. Barnham gave the appearance of a very flustered man.

"My tongue got away from me; I should n't have said it. I really should n't have said it. If she ever finds it out, it will mean trouble for me. But truly," and he beamed, "you are such a tough customer to deal with and so suspicious—no offense meant, of course—that I really was forced to it. I—feel sure she will forgive me."

"Whom do you mean by 'she'?"

Mr. Barnham smiled in a knowing manner.

"You and I both know," came his cryptic answer. "She is your one great, good friend. She thinks a great deal of you, and you have done several things to cause that admiration. Now, Mr. Fairchild, coming to the point, suppose she should point a way out of your troubles?"

"How?"

"In the first place, you and your partner are in very great difficulties."

"Are we?" Fairchild said it sarcastically.

"Indeed you are, and there is no need of attempting to conceal the fact. Your friend, whose name must remain a secret, does not love you—don't ever think that—but—"

Then he hesitated as though to watch the effect on Fairchild's face. There was none; Robert had masked it. In time the words went on: "But she does think enough of you to want to make you happy. She has recently done a thing which gives her a great deal of power in one direction. In another, she has connections who possess vast money powers and who are looking for an opening here in the west. Now,—" he made a church steeple out of his fingers and leaned back in his chair, staring vacuously at the ceiling, "if you will say the word and do a thing which will relieve her of a great deal of embarrassment, I am sure that she can so arrange things that life will be very easy for you henceforth."

"I 'm becoming interested."

"In the first place, she is engaged to be married to a very fine young man. You, of course, may say differently, and I do not know—I am only taking her word for it. But—if I understand it, your presence in Ohadi has caused a few disagreements between them and—well, you know how willful and headstrong girls will be. I believe she has committed a few—er—indiscretions with you."

"That's a lie!" Fairchild's temper got away from him and his fist banged on the table. "That's a lie and you know it!"

"Pardon me—er—pardon me! I made use of a word that can have many meanings, and I am sure that in using it, I did n't place the same construction that you did in hearing it. But let that pass. I apologize. What I should have said was that, if you will pardon me, she used you, as young women will do, as a foil against her fianc� in a time of petty quarreling between them. Is that plainer?"

It was too plain to Fairchild. It hurt. But he nodded his head and the other man went on.

"Now the thing has progressed to a place where you may be—well—what one might call the thorn in the side of their happiness. You are the 'other man', as it were, to cause quarrels and that sort of thing. And she feels that she has not done rightly by you, and, through her friendship and a desire to see peace all around, believes she can arrange matters to suit all concerned. To be plain and blunt, Mr. Fairchild, you are not in an enviable position. I said that I had information for you, and I 'm going to give it. You are trying to work a mine. That demands capital. You have n't got it and there is no way for you to procure it. To get capital, one must have standing—and you must admit that you are lacking to a great extent in that very necessary ingredient. In the first place, your mine is in escrow, being held in court in lieu of five thousand dollars bond on—"

"You seem to have been making a few inquiries?"

"Not at all. I never heard of the proposition before she brought it to me. As I say, the deeds to your mine are held in escrow. Your partner now is accused of four crimes and will go to trial on them in the fall. It is almost certain that he will be convicted on at least one of the charges. That would mean that the deeds to the mine must remain in jurisdiction of the court in lieu of a cash bond while the case goes to the Supreme Court. Otherwise, you must yield over your partner to go to jail. In either event, the result would not be satisfactory. For yourself, I dare say that a person whose father is supposed to have committed a murder—not that I say he did it, understand—hardly could establish sufficient standing to borrow the money to proceed on an undertaking which requires capital. Therefore, I should say that you were in somewhat of a predicament. Now—" a long wait and then, "please take this as only coming from a spokesman: My client is in a position to use her good offices to change the viewpoint of the man who is the chief witness against your partner. She also is in a position to use those same good offices in another direction, so that there might never be a grand jury investigation of the finding of a certain body or skeleton, or something of the kind, in your mine—which, if you will remember, brought about a very disagreeable situation. And through her very good connections in another way, she is able to relieve you of all your financial embarrassment and procure for you from a certain eastern syndicate, the members of which I am not at liberty to name, an offer of $200,000 for your mine. All that is necessary for you to do is to say the word."

Fairchild leaned forward.

"And of course," he said caustically, "the name of this mysterious feminine friend must be a secret?"

"Certainly. No mention of this transaction must be made to her directly, or indirectly. Those are my specific instructions. Now, Mr. Fairchild, that seems to me to be a wonderful offer. And it—"

"Do you want my answer now?"

"At any time when you have given the matter sufficient thought."

"That's been accomplished already. And there 's no need of waiting. I want to thank you exceedingly for your offer, and to tell you—that you can go straight to hell!"

And without looking back to see the result of his ultimatum, Fairchild rose, strode to the door, unlocked it, and stamped down the hall. He had taken snap judgment, but in his heart, he felt that he was right. What was more, he was as sure as he was sure of life itself that Anita Richmond had not arranged the interview and did not even know of it. One streaking name was flitting through Fairchild's brain and causing it to seethe with anger. Cleverly concealed though the plan might have been, nicely arranged and carefully planted, to Robert Fairchild it all stood out plainly and clearly—the Rodaines!

And yet why? That one little word halted Fairchild as he left the elevator. Why should the Rodaines be willing to free him from all the troubles into which his mining ventures had taken him, start him out into the world and give him a fortune with which to make his way forward? Why? What did they know about the Blue Poppy mine, when neither he nor Harry had any idea of what the future might hold for them there? Certainly they could not have investigated in the years that were gone; the cave-in precluded that. There was no other tunnel, no other means of determining the riches which might be hidden within the confines of the Blue Poppy claims, yet it was evident. That day in court Rodaine had said that the Blue Poppy was a good property and that it was worth every cent of the value which had been placed on it. How did he know? And why—?

At least one answer to Rodaine's action came to him. It was simple now to see why the scar-faced man had put a good valuation on the mine during the court procedure and