XVI
Broken Threads
Mr. Crawford Stanton's attempt to find out who Smith's dinner companionwas began with a casual question shot at the hotel clerk; with that, anda glance at the register. From the clerk he learned Miss Richlander'sname and the circumstances under which she had become a waitingtransient in the hotel. From the register he got nothing but themagnate's name and the misleading address, "Chicago."
"Is Mr. Richlander a Chicago man?" he asked of the clerk.
"No. He merely registered from his last stop--as a good many people do.His home town is Lawrenceville."
"Which Lawrenceville is that?" Stanton inquired; but the clerk shook hishead.
"You may search me, Mr. Stanton. I didn't ask. It's in Indiana, isn'tit? You might find out from Miss Richlander."
Stanton became thoughtful for a moment and then crossed the lobby to hisbusiness office, which had an entrance from the hotel ground floor.Behind the closed door, which he took the precaution to lock, he turnedon the light and opened a large atlas. A glance at the town listingsrevealed some half-dozen Lawrencevilles, in as many different States,one State offering two, for good measure. That ended the search for themoment, and a little later he went up-stairs to rejoin the resplendentlady, who was taking her after-dinner ease in the most comfortablelounging-chair the mezzanine parlors afforded.
"No good," he reported. "The girl's name is Richlander, and she--or herfather--comes from one of half a dozen 'Lawrencevilles'--you can takeyour choice among 'em."
"Money?" queried the comfortable one.
"Buying mines in the Topaz," said the husband mechanically. He was notthinking specially of Mr. Josiah Richlander's possible or probablerating with the commercial agencies; he was wondering how well MissRichlander knew John Smith, and in what manner she could be persuaded totell what she might know. While he was turning it over in his mind thetwo in question, Smith and the young woman, passed through the lobby ontheir way to the theatre. Stanton, watching them narrowly from thevantage-point afforded by the galleried mezzanine, drew his ownconclusions. By all the little signs they were not merely chanceacquaintances or even casual friends. Their relations were closer--andof longer standing.
Stanton puzzled over his problem a long time, long after Mrs. Stantonhad forsaken the easy chair and had disappeared from the scene. HisEastern employers were growing irascibly impatient, and the letters andtelegrams were beginning to have an abrasive quality disagreeablyirritating to a hard-working field captain. Who was this fellow Smith,and what was his backing? they were beginning to ask; and with theasking there were intimations that if Mr. Crawford Stanton were findinghis task too difficult, there was always an alternative.
As a business man Stanton was usually able to keep irritatingpersonalities at a proper distance. But the Timanyoni-Escalante war wasbeginning to get on his nerves. At first, it had presented itself as thesimplest of business campaigns. A great land grab had been carriedthrough, and there was an ample water-supply to transform the ariddesert into ranch acres with enormous increases in values. A farmers'ditch company, loosely organized and administered, was the soleobstacle in the way, and upon his arrival in Brewster, Stanton had setblithely about removing it.
Just when all was going well, when the farmers were almost in sight oftheir finish, and the actual stock absorption had fairly begun, the newfactor had broken in; a young man capable and daring to a degree thatwas amazing, even in the direct and courageous West. Where and how Smithwould strike, Stanton never knew until after the blow had been senthome. Secrecy, the most difficult requirement in any business campaign,had been so strictly maintained that up to the present evening ofcogitations in the Hophra House mezzanine, Stanton was still unable totell his New York and Washington employers positively whether Smith hadmoney--Eastern money--behind him, or was engineering the big coup alone.Kinzie was steadfastly refusing to talk, and the sole significant fact,thus far, was that practically all of the new High Line stock had beentaken up by local purchasers.
Stanton was still wrestling with his problem when the "handsome couple"returned from the play. The trust field captain saw them as they crossedthe lobby to the elevator and again marked the little evidences offamiliarity. "That settles it," he mused, with an outthrust of thepugnacious jaw. "She knows more about Smith than anybody else in thisneck of woods--_and she's got it to tell_!"
Stanton began his inquisition for better information the following day,with the bejewelled lady for his ally. Miss Richlander was alone andunfriended in the hotel--and also a little bored. Hence she was easy ofapproach; so easy that by luncheon time the sham promoter's wife wasable to introduce her husband. Stanton lost no moment investigative. Forthe inquiring purpose, Smith was made to figure as a businessacquaintance, and Stanton was generous in his praises of the young man'sastounding financial ability.
"He's simply a wonder, Miss Richlander!" he confided over theluncheon-table. "Coming here a few weeks ago, absolutely unknown, he hasalready become a prominent man of affairs in Brewster. And so discreetlyreticent! To this good day nobody knows where he comes from, or anythingabout him."
"No?" said Miss Verda. "How singular!" But she did not volunteer tosupply any of the missing biographical facts.
"Absolutely nothing," Stanton went on smoothly. "And, of course, hissilence about himself has been grossly misinterpreted. I have even heardit said that he is an escaped convict."
"How perfectly absurd!" was the smiling comment.
"Isn't it? But you know how people will talk. They are saying now thathis name isn't Smith; that he has merely taken the commonest name in thecategory as an _alias_."
"I can contradict that, anyway," Miss Richlander offered. "His name isreally and truly John Smith."
"You have known him a long time, haven't you?" inquired the lady withthe headlight diamonds.
"Oh, yes; for quite a long time, indeed."
"That was back in New York State?" Stanton slipped in.
"In the East, yes. He comes of an excellent family. His father's peoplewere well-to-do farmers, and one of his great-uncles on his mother'sside was on the supreme bench in our State; he was chief justice duringthe later years of his life."
"What State did you say?" queried Stanton craftily. But Miss Verda wasfar too wide-awake to let him surprise her.
"Our home State, of course. I don't believe any member of Mr. Smith'simmediate family on either side has ever moved out of it."
Stanton gave it up for the time being, and was convinced upon twopoints. Miss Richlander's reticence could have but one meaning: for somegood reason, Smith would not, or dare not, give any home references.That was one point, and the second was that Miss Richlander knew, andknew that others wanted to know--and refused to tell. Stanton weighedthe probabilities thoughtfully in the privacy of his office. There weretwo hypotheses: Smith might have business reasons for the secrecy--hemight have backers who wished to remain completely unknown in theirfight against the big land trust; but if he had no backers the otherhypothesis clinched itself instantly--he was in hiding; he had donesomething from which he had run away.
It was not until after office hours that Stanton was able to reduce hisequation to its simplest terms, and it was Shaw, dropping in to make hisreport after his first day's work as clerk and stenographer in the HighLine headquarters, who cleared the air of at least one fog bank ofdoubts.
"I've been through the records and the stock-books," said the spy, when,in obedience to orders, he had locked the office door. "Smith is playinga lone hand. He flimflammed Kinzie for his first chunk of money, andafter that it was easy. Every dollar invested in High Line has been dugup right here in the Timanyoni. Here's the list of stockholders."
Stanton ran his eye down the string of names and swore when he sawMaxwell's subscription of $25,000. "Damn it!" he rasped; "and he'sFairbairn's own son-in-law!"
"So is Starbuck, for that matter; and he's in for twenty thousand," saidShaw. "And, by the way, Billy is a man who will bear watching. He'sh
and-in-glove with Smith, and he's onto all of our little crooks andturns. I heard him telling Smith to-day that he owed it to the companyto carry a gun."
Stanton's smile showed his teeth.
"I wish he would; carry one and kill somebody with it. Then we'd knowwhat to do with him."
The spy was rolling a cigarette and his half-closed eyes had a murderousglint in them.
"Me, for instance?" he inquired cynically.
"Anybody," said Stanton absently. He was going over the list ofstockholders again and had scarcely heard what Shaw had said.
"That brings us down to business, Mr. Stanton," said the ex-railroadclerk slowly. "I'm not getting money enough out of this to cover therisk--my risk."
The man at the desk looked up quickly.
"What's that you say? By heavens, Shaw, have I got to send you over theroad before you'll come to your senses? I've spoken once, and I'll do itjust this one time more: you sing small if you want to keep out ofjail!"
Shaw had lighted his cigarette and was edging toward the door.
"Not this trip, Mr. Stanton," he said coolly. "If you've got me, I'vegot you. I can find two men who will go into court and swear that youpaid Pete Simms money to have Smith sandbagged, that day out at Simms'splace at the dam! I may have to go to jail, as you say; but I'll bet youfive to one that you'll beat me to it!" And with that he snapped thecatch on the locked door and went away.
Some three hours after this rather hostile clash with the leasttrustworthy, but by far the most able, of his henchmen, Crawford Stantonleft his wife chatting comfortably with Miss Richlander in the hotelparlors and went reluctantly to keep an appointment which he had beendreading ever since the early afternoon hour when a wire had come fromCopah directing him to meet the "Nevada Flyer" upon its arrival atBrewster. The public knew the name signed to the telegram as that of amillionaire statesman; but Stanton knew it best as the name of a hardand not over-scrupulous master.
The train was whistling for the station when Stanton descended from hiscab and hurried down the long platform. He assumed that the greatpersonage would be travelling in a private car which would be coupled tothe rear end of the "Flyer," and his guess was confirmed. Awhite-jacketed porter was waiting to admit him to the presence when thetrain came to a stand, and as he climbed into the vestibule of theluxurious private car, Stanton got what comfort he could out of thethought that the interview would necessarily be limited by the tenminutes' engine-changing stop of the fast train.
The presence chamber was the open compartment of the palace on wheels,and it held a single occupant when Stanton entered; a big-bodied manwith bibulous eyes and a massive square-angled head and face, a face inwhich the cartoonists emphasized the heavy drooping mustache and theever-present black cigar growing out of it.
"Hello, Crawford," the great man grunted, making no move to lift hishuge body out of the padded lounging-chair. "You got my wire?"
"Yes," returned the promoter, limiting himself to the one word.
"What's the matter with you here on this land deal? Why don't you getaction?"
Stanton tried to explain as fully as might be, holding in view thenecessity for haste. The big man in the easy chair was frowning heavilywhen the explanation was finished.
"And you say this one man has blocked the game? Why the devil don't youget rid of him--buy him, or run him off, or something?"
"I don't believe he can be bought."
"Well, then, chase him out. We can't afford to be hung up this wayindefinitely by every little amateur that happens to come along and sitin the game. Get action and do something. From what you say, this fellowis probably some piker who has left his country for his country's good.Get the detectives after him and run him down."
"That will take time, and time is what we haven't got."
The big man pulled himself up in his chair and glared savagely at theprotester.
"Stanton, you make me tired--very tired! You know what we have at stakein this deal, and thus far you're the only man in it who hasn't madegood. You've had all the help you've asked for, and all the money youwanted to spend. If you've lost your grip, say so plainly, and get downand out. We don't want any 'has-been' on this job. If you are at the endof your resources----"
The conductor's shout of "All aboard!" dominated the clamor of thestation noises, and the air-brakes were singing as the engineer of thechanged locomotives tested the connections. Stanton saw his chance toduck and took it.
"I have been trying to stop short of anything that might make talk," hesaid. "This town might easily be made too hot to hold us, and----"
"You're speaking for yourself, now," rapped out the tyrant. "What thedevil do we care for the temperature of Brewster? I've only one word foryou, Crawford: _you get busy and give us results_. Skip out, now, oryou'll get carried by. And, say; let me have a wire at Los Angeles, notlater than Thursday. Get that?"
Stanton got it: also, he escaped, making a flying leap from the movingtrain. At the cab rank he found the motor-cab which he had hired for thedrive down from the hotel. Climbing in, he gave a brittle order to thechauffeur. Simultaneously a man wearing the softest of Stetsons loungedaway from his post of observation under a near-by electric pole and ranacross the railroad plaza to unhitch and mount a wiry little cow-pony.Once in the saddle, however, the mounted man did not hurry his horse.Having overheard Stanton's order-giving, there was no need to keep themotor-cab in sight as it sputtered through the streets and out upon thebackgrounding mesa, its ill-smelling course ending at a lonelyroad-house in the mesa hills on the Topaz trail.
When the hired vehicle came to a stand in front of the lighted bar-roomof the road-house, Stanton gave a waiting order to the driver and wentin. Of the dog-faced barkeeper he asked an abrupt question, and at theman's jerk of a thumb toward the rear, the promoter passed on andentered the private room at the back.
The private room had but one occupant--the man Lanterby, who was sittingbehind a round card-table and vainly endeavoring to make one of the pairof empty whiskey-glasses spin in a complete circuit about a blackbottle standing on the table.
Stanton pulled up a chair and sat down, and Lanterby poured libationsfor two from the black bottle. The promoter, ordinarily as abstemious asa Trappist, drained his portion at a gulp.
"Well?" he snapped, pushing the bottle aside. "What did you find out?"
"I reckon it can be done, if it has to be," was the low-toned reply.
"Done and well covered up?"
"Yep. It'll be charged up to the high water--maybe."
"Is the river still rising?"
"A little bit higher every night now. That's the way it comes up. Thesnow on the mountain melts in the day and the run-off comes in thenight."
"You can handle it by yourself, can't you?"
"Me and Boogerfield can."
"All right. Get everything ready and wait for the word from me. Youdidn't let Pegleg in on it, did you?"
"I had to. We'd have to work from his joint."
"That was a bad move. Simms would sell you out if anybody wanted to buy.He'd sell his best friend," frowned Stanton.
Lanterby showed the whites of his eyes and a set of broken teeth in awolfish grin.
"Pete can't run fast enough to sell me out," he boasted. "I'll havesomethin' in my clothes that'll run faster than he can, with that woodenleg o' his."
Stanton nodded and poured himself another drink--a larger one than thefirst; and then thought better of it and spilled the liquor on thefloor.
"That will do for the dynamite part of it. It's a last resort, ofcourse. We don't want to have to rebuild the dam, and I have one morestring that I want to pull first. This man Smith: I've got a pointer onhim, at last. Is Boogerfield still feeling sore about the man-handlingSmith gave him?"
"You bet your life he is."
"Good. Keep him stirred up along that line." Stanton got up and lookedthirstily at the bottle, but let it alone. "That's all for to-night.Stay out of sight as much as you can, and go easy on the whis
key. I maynot come here again. If I don't, I'll send you one of two words.'Williams' will mean that you're to strike for the dam. 'Jake' will meanthat you are to get Boogerfield fighting drunk and send him after Smith.Whichever way it comes out, you'll find the money where I've said itwill be, and you and Boogerfield had better fade away--and take Peglegwith you, if you can."
The hired car was still waiting when Stanton went out through thebar-room and gave the driver his return orders. And, because the nightwas dark, neither of the two at the car saw the man in the soft Stetsonstraighten himself up from his crouching place under the back-roomwindow and vanish silently in the gloom.
The Real Man Page 16