“Here we are,” he said, and smiled. Armand raised his brows, removed his pipe from his mouth. Ernest did not even glance at his cousin. Upon entering the room he had dominated it, so that all the other occupants appeared to have been pushed toward the wall, leaving about him a space vibrant with power and resolution. His rudeness to his aunt nonplussed her, and she stood near him, blinking. Joseph felt a sudden anger against his son, a compassion for Daisy. He addressed her in a kindly, almost affectionate voice; she did not move her face from Ernest’s direction, but her gooseberry eyes slid in their sockets and glared petrifyingly upon him. Martin glanced up languidly, and then with a startled expression he concentrated upon his brother as though he had turned suddenly into something affrighting; his whole slender body tensed in the chair.
“Well, here we are,” repeated Joseph surlily, shaken by his sister-in-law’s repudiation of him, angered anew at this silly mystery. “Now dash it, what are we here for, anyway?”
“I’m sure,” said George contemptuously, shrugging, “it’s as big a secret to me as it seems to be to you. All I know is, Joe, that your lad here, Martin, knocks on my door, and acts like a white bunny, and tells me, half-swooning like a lass, that Armand told him to be here at half past seven. So, in he comes, and then Armand comes. And now you and Ernest. It’s a rum business.”
Ernest had smiled acridly and involuntarily at his uncle’s description of Martin, which seemed to him very apt, and then immediately became impassive again.
“Yes, it’s a rum business,” agreed Joseph with asperity. He sat down gingerly in an elaborate gilt chair behind Martin. He glared irately at Ernest over his shoulder. “Come on, come on! What is it what is it? Here we are. Open your mouth and stop looking like a bloody hangman!”
Ernest, unmoved, glanced at his aunt and cousin. “I don’t think we need the ladies here,” he said quietly. “We have business to talk.”
“Well, I must say!” exclaimed Martha, jarred from her maidenly pose.
“La!” ejaculated Daisy, who retained many old-fashioned expressions.
George crudely waved his hand dismissingly at his wife and daughter. “Go along with you,” he said curtly. “Business is not for women.” He was consumed with curiosity; he did not underestimate Ernest. He turned to him in a friendly manner as the ladies rose in a flutter of scent and silk and bosoms, tossing their heads, and left the room. “What is it, lad? Something important?”
“Yes.” Ernest regarded him steadfastly. “Very important. I don’t think we need to waste time.” He turned to Martin. “Martin, open your book to the January entry. The Trenton account.”
George stared. His florid face paled a trifle, and his eyes bulged. He removed his cigar from his mouth. Armand tranquilly renewed his smoking, and Joseph blinked his eyes, puzzled and annoyed. Martin, whose fine white hands shook a little, opened a thin book. “Yes,” he murmured, without looking at his brother.
Ernest’s voice was smooth and urbane as cream. “Tell me, Martin, what is entered there as their paid bill for the last six months before January?”
“Two thousand four hundred seventy six dollars.” Martin’s words could hardly be heard. A blue vein protruded and throbbed in his delicate white forehead.
“Look here!” began Joseph irately. Ernest lifted his hand without turning to his father or removing his eyes from Martin, and Joseph immediately became silent. He turned in his chair to his brother and was amazed at George’s color.
“Two thousand four hundred seventy-six dollars,” repeated Ernest softly, almost dreamily. Suddenly his face sharpened, and his voice rang out: “And now, Martin, tell us of the letter you found the other day from the Trenton people, dated six months ago, in which they mention enclosing a draft for two thousand seven hundred and six dollars, in payment of their account.”
Martin swallowed visibly, and a febrile tint sprang into his face. He stared at Ernest as if all his will power could not drag his eyes away.
“It’s true,” he said tremulously. “But there must have been some mistake. It was only that once, after all. It must have been a mistake. I know what you are trying to prove, Ernest, but it was all a mistake.”
Joseph looked from George to Armand. But Armand did not return his look. He was intent upon George, who was wetting his livid lips and regarding Ernest murderously. He visibly struggled for breath, his broad chest panting. He clenched hands that were wet and icy cold. His breath, as he exhaled, was almost a groan. When he could finally speak his voice was hoarse.
“You filthy young dog! I see what you’re after, curse you. Of course it was a mistake. A mistake, damn you! I’ve made it up a thousand times. I’ve—”
Joseph jumped up. He was pale and a little sick. He seized Ernest by the arm, but he might have seized an arm of stone. “What are you trying to say? What is this? Speak up, or I’ll cut your throat, even if you are my son. I’ll give you a hiding you’ll never get over, big as you are!”
Armand smoked placidly, not moving, not speaking. Ernest waited. He was smiling a little, very fixedly. He waited until his father’s uproar subsided. Joseph still clutched his arm, but he did not turn to his father. He still faced his uncle.
“You bank all drafts,” he said relentlessly. “At the end of each day you give Martin figures of drafts received, which he enters in the ledger. I’ve always thought it a trifle unbusiness-like and irregular. But no matter. Naturally, we trusted you. It would never have occurred to us not to.” He put his hand into an inner pocket and produced a letter. George snatched at it involuntarily, but Ernest adroitly put it behind his back. “Martin found this letter from the Trenton people some time ago, in your desk, the day you were ill, and he was looking for some office paper. It was very careless of you, Uncle George. Martin was puzzled a bit, for the amount mentioned in the letter was not the amount recorded in the books. He thought he had made some mistake, and showed me the letter. He was too innocent to know what it meant. But he never,” added Ernest gently, “makes mistakes in unimportant things. I knew exactly what it meant.”
A thick silence followed his words. George’s face swelled duskily; he made a strangled sound, thrust his finger between his neck and his cravat. Joseph, standing behind Ernest, put his hand to a wet forehead, and his face was haggard. But still Armand did not move; he seemed only mildly interested. Martin found himself unable to look at any of them, and regarded the floor despondently.
Finally George spoke again, in a dwindled and smothered voice. His eyes were glaucous and staring. He looked at Ernest with hate and fury, but he spoke to his brother and Armand.
“Joe, and Armand—you can’t believe I’d rob the Company, whatever this bastard says. This viper! This bloody dog! Why, my God! I’ve built it up. It’s mine! I’ve built it up.” His rage suddenly inundated him like a flood, in which he struggled and drowned. “If you believe this, if you can believe this dog, you can all bloody well get out! Out! Out!” His voice rose to a shriek. He struck his breast repeatedly with his great clenched fist, glared at them all with eyes swimming in scarlet. His forehead was dark purple.
Joseph and Martin were appalled at these demonstrations. Martin got up, and going behind his chair as behind a shelter, he clutched it convulsively.
“My God!” cried Joseph, “I never thought a son of mine—, I can’t believe it. It—it’s hellish. A mistake. What’ve you got up your sleeve, you devil? Something told me for years—. Damn you, speak up! O my God!” groaned the poor man, sinking into his chair and rubbing his wet forehead with the back of his hand. For the first time Armand moved, regarded Joseph with impersonal and very odd compassion, then again fixed his attention upon Ernest, who stood in rigid silence, waiting. Always waiting. And looking at no one but his uncle. The fire flared up, roared. George’s dog, shut out, howled in the darkness.
After a long time George seemed to regain his composure. A thought must have flashed through his mind, for of a sudden the purple began to recede from his face, his eye gleame
d malevolently; to everyone’s amazement he even smiled. He took a step toward Ernest, one hand clenched into a battering fist, the other hand raised and pointing at the youth.
“I’ve been testing you just now, you blasted pup. I’ve been testing you! Oh, it’s all right, Joe, it’s all right! Let me finish; let me put him in his place, before I bash him in the jaw.
“So you found that letter, did you, you sneak and thief! Well, I’ll explain it! I never thought I’d have to, to be shamed and mocked this way. But I’ll explain it. That extra money you dare to tell me I stole: know what it was? Commission quietly paid to an agent, a sales chap of the Trenton people!”
He allowed this to penetrate into the consciousness of his audience, the while he glowered at them triumphantly, waited for their grovelling. Joe looked at him in pleading and stricken silence, as did Martin. Ernest waited, unmoved, expressionless; Armand merely waited.
George laughed, shortly and hoarsely, nodded his head fiercely. “I thought that would take the wind from your blasted sails! Commission.’ You know how we worked for years to get the Trenton trade, and all of a sudden we got it. I got it! By paying Henderson, their agent, a commission—the difference. And by God, I’ll go on paying him commission if I have to, just to get their trade!
“And—another thing: any damned one of you can write to any of our customers, ask them—compare their drafts with my entries in the books. And then, show me one penny difference, and by God! I’ll leave the whole works in your hands! I’ll get out! Give it to you, outright.”
He turned to Ernest menacingly, but Ernest’s expression was one of tired indifference. Joseph stood up again, stood shaking his head. He looked wizened.
“Say no more, Georgie. It ain’t necessary. I’ll take the lads home. I’ll—I’ll make it up to you—someway. I don’t know how: it seems to me as if nothing I can ever do will repay you for all this. Ernest—I don’t know what got into him. I never would have believed it—. My son. I know he’s always had it in for you for nothing at all, and in spite of all your kindness to him. I can see, now, that he’s been waiting—.”
He stopped. Ernest had turned to him quietly and firmly. The youth’s face was almost pitiful, Armand noticed with edified surprise. The hard young eye, so like glittering agate, softened unbelievably.
“Yes, Pa, I’ve been waiting,” he said gently. “I’ve been waiting to prove to you what a cad and a thief and a rascal your brother is.” Again his face became harsh and cruel; he swung upon George, who was advancing upon him. He thrust out his hand, and George stopped abruptly in his tracks. “Rotter!” exclaimed Ernest. “I knew you would lie out of this! Or try to. But you can’t! I knew you’d cover your tracks. But explain this!
“When I found that letter I knew it was true what I had always thought of you. I just wondered how far you had gone. So I wrote quietly to nearly all our customers, and asked what they had paid for various shipments.”
George’s mouth fell open as he stood there. Suddenly he looked broken and ill, and murderously desperate. A white grin flashed across Ernest’s face. George caught the back of a chair.
“I found something I didn’t expect!” cried the young man. “I did expect to find a difference in price, like this letter. But I didn’t! You had covered your tracks. Everything was in order, there!
“But I found something else! Our customers, one and all, mentioned one shipment in every five of which there was no office record, but for which they had paid! In personal drafts to you, my Uncle George.” His voice dropped, became soft, almost whispering.
“God!” cried Joseph once, shortly and sharply. Then, dully, brokenly: “I don’t believe it! Dear Jesus, I don’t believe it!”
Ernest swung on him. “Ask him!” he shouted. “Ask him! Ask him about the nights he stayed down here, to ‘finish up work!’ Ask Gordon, the foreman, who was in it with him, and who only confessed to me when I threatened him with the police! Ask Gordon! He’s ready and willing to tell everything he knows. Gordon’s down at Armand’s house now, waiting. I would have brought him, but that would have given the game away at the start, and I wanted you, Pa, to see for yourself what kind of a scoundred your brother is, God damn him!”
Emotion in Ernest was so rare, so almost unknown, that this sudden blazing rage of his, his suddenly raised voice, his fierce gestures, had an appalling and arresting effect on his audience. They all stared at him, even George. On the latter’s purple lips blood appeared as he chewed his tongue. Joseph swallowed, retched a little, convulsively, swallowed again. He closed his eyes. Martin averted his head shuddered, then stared at Ernest, fascinated. His gentle mouth trembled his eyes filled with reproach. Only Armand sat without emotion.
Joseph stirred. He held out his hand to his son. “Ernest,” he almost whimpered, “why didn’t you tell me—at the start? It would have saved all this.
“Suppose he did steal? Better men than he have done it. And after all, he started our shop; in a way, it’s his. Oh, I’m not covering him up, excusing him. But you might have told me.
“I know you, son,” he added after a moment, his voice weak and trembling. “I know you. You had something in mind. Out with it! You want something. What is it? You staged all this to get something. And it ain’t what it appears to be. What do you want?”
Again an expression of compassion flickered on Ernest’s face. That compassion almost undid him, ruined everything he had worked for. Then he stiffened himself. Only Armand saw him stealthily angling for position, and he watched him in utter but ironical admiration.
“I only wanted to show you what he is, Pa,” replied Ernest, slowly and gently, his eyes abstracted as he maneuvered. He had it! George had been smashed into silence, into immobility, as he chewed his tongue and flecked his lips with blood, as the congestion rose in his veins. It was not Ernest’s desire nor plan that his uncle remain silent. It was his plan to force George’s hand, to make him bring ruin down upon himself. Silence was George’s refuge, but he did not know it. He knew it later, when it was too late. He knew then, bitterly, savagely, that had he remained silent Joseph would have championed him, that in some difficult and tortuous way, things would have been adjusted. He knew, too, saw, that Ernest had forced him along, had broken his silence deliberately. If he had only remained silent, allowed Joseph to help him.
Ernest approached him a step, faced him without bravado, but with contempt, goading him.
“You called me a thief! You, robber that you are! You, who stole your brother’s brains, sold them for your own private pocket. Robbed him! Robbed all of us, of our life and our time and our work! So you could cut a figure, move over among your betters, look down your nose at us, you, who aren’t fit to lick my father’s boots!
“But your names don’t hurt! We know what you are! And we’ll let the whole bloody town know. See then what’ll happen to you!”
He succeeded. For one moment he feared that he had not, for George remained silent under the lashing. Then he sprang into action. He swung upon Ernest with his fist; Ernest dodged, laughing scornfully. Then George was beside himself. He turned blind; he foamed at the mouth; he gibbered, swung his arms impotently, screamed.
“Get out! All of you! Out of my house, out of my shop! You’re finished! I’ve got what I wanted from you, all of you, and now, out you go, with my foot on your backside!
“If you show your damned faces near me again, I’ll have the police on you! Gallows dogs! That’s where you belong, all of you, on the gallows!”
He gloated over them, appallingly, murderously. He shrieked with triumphant and malignant mirth. The Day! It had arrived.
“I’ve waited for this, you bastards, I’ve waited for this! To put you in your places, to put my foot on your necks. Your brains! Why damn you all, damn your black hearts, your brains were only made for men like me to take and get fat on! I’ve waited for this day, counted on it, struggled for it. And now it’s here. Now!
Dynasty of Death Page 14