CHAPTER VI
FOOLING SHYLOCK DRUMMOND
THE night that he entered Drummond's house was slightly foggy andvisibility was low. He was dressed as he had been when he encounteredDrummond at the club. He had seen the banker climb the five steps to hisfront door at half past twelve. At half past one the lights wereswitched off in the bedroom on the second floor. At two the door gentlyopened and admitted Anthony Trent. He left it unlocked and ready forflight. And he memorized the position of the furniture so that hastyflight would be possible.
It was not a big house. The articles of furniture, the pictures, rugsand hangings were splendid. The interior decorators had taken care ofthat. But he had seen them all in the magazine. Trent knew very wellthat to obtain such prizes as he sought could not be a matter ofcertainty. Somewhere in this house was a lot of currency. And it mightbe in a safe. Old fashioned safes presented few difficulties, but yourmodern strong box is a different matter. Criminal investigator as hewas, he knew one man seldom attempted to dynamite a safe. It was amatter for several men. In itself the technique was not difficult but hehad no accomplices and at best it is a matter better fitted for officesin the night silences than a private residence.
He had been told by criminals that it was astonishing how careless richmen were with their money. Anthony Trent proposed to test this. He hadmade only a noiseless progress on a half dozen stairs on his upwardflight when a door suddenly opened, flooding the stairway with light. Itwas from a room above him. And there were steps coming along a corridortoward him. Feeling certain that the reception rooms leading off theentrance hall were empty, he swiftly opened a door and stepped backwardinto the room, watching intently to see that he had escaped theobservation of some one descending the staircase.
From the frying pan's discomfort to the greater dangers of the fire waswhat he had done for himself. He found himself in a long room at one endof which he stood, swearing under breath at what he saw. At the otherMr. William Drummond was seated at a table. And Mr. Drummond held in hishand an ugly automatic of .38 calibre. Covering him with the weapon thebanker came swiftly toward him. It was the unexpected moment for whichAnthony Trent was prepared. Assuming the demeanor of the drunken man hepeered into the elder man's face. He betrayed no fear of the pistol. Hisspeech was thickened, but he was reasonably coherent.
"It is old Drummond, isn't it?" he demanded.
"What are you doing here?" the other snapped, and then gave a start whenhe saw to whom he spoke. "Mr. Bulstrode!"
"I've come," said the other swaying slightly, "to tell you I'm sorry. Idon't know why I said it but the other fellers said it wasn't right.I've come to shake your hand." He caught sight of the weapon. "Put thatdamn thing down, Drummond."
Obediently the banker slipped it into the pocket of his dressing gown.He followed the swaying man as he walked toward the lighted part of theroom. He was frankly amazed. Wild as he was, and drunken as was hisevening custom, why had this heir to the Bulstrode millions entered hishouse like a thief in the night? And for what was he sorry?
In a chair by the side of the desk Anthony Trent flung himself. Hewanted particularly to see what the banker had hidden with a swiftmotion as he had risen. The yellow end of some notes of highdenomination caught his eye. Right on the table was what he sought. Theonly method of getting it would be to overpower Drummond. There wereobjections to this. The banker was armed and would certainly shoot. Orthere might be a terrific physical encounter in which the younger manmight kill unintentionally. And an end in the electric chair was no partof Trent's scheme of things. Also, there was some one else awake in thehouse.
Drummond resumed his seat and the watcher saw him with elaborateunconcern slide an evening paper over the partially concealed notes.
"Just what is on your mind, Mr. Bulstrode?" he began.
"I called you 'Shylock,'" Trent returned. "No right to have said it.What I should have said was, 'Come and have a drink.' Been ashamed ofmyself ever since."
Drummond looked at him fixedly. It was a calculating glance and a coldone. And there was the contempt in it that a sober man has for one fargone in drink.
"And do you usually break into a man's house when you want toapologize?" There was almost a sneer in his voice.
"Break in?" retorted the other, apparently slow at comprehending him,"the damn door wasn't locked. Any one could get in. Burglars could breakthrough and steal. Most foolish. I lock my door every night. Allsensible people do. Surprised at you."
"We'll see about that," said Drummond. He took a grip on his visitor'sarm and led him through the hall to the door. It was unlocked and theburglar alarm system disconnected. It was not the first time thatDrummond's man had forgotten it. In the morning he would be dismissed.Apparently this irresponsible young ass had got the idea in his stupidhead that he had acted offensively and had calmly walked in. It was theopportunity for the banker to cultivate him.
"As I came in," Trent told him, "some one was coming down the stairs.Better see who it was."
Drummond looked at him suspiciously. Trent knew that he was not yetsatisfied that his visitor's story was worthy of belief. Then he spokeas one who humors a child.
"We'll go and find out."
Outside the door they came upon an elderly woman servant with a silvertray in her hands.
"Madame," she explained, "was not able to eat any luncheon or dinner andhas waked up hungry."
Drummond raised the cover of a porcelain dish.
"Caviare sandwiches," he grunted, "bad things to sleep on."
He led the way back to the room. In his scheming mind was a vague schemeto use this betise of Graham Bulstrode as a means to win his wife socialadvancement. Mrs. Clent Bulstrode could do it. Money would not buyrecognition from her. Perhaps fear of exposure might. He glanced withcontempt at the huddled figure of the heir to Bulstrode millions. Theyoung man was too much intoxicated to offer any resistance.
Tall, huge and menacing he stood over Anthony Trent. There was a look inhis eye that caused a certain uneasiness in the impostor's mind. Inanother age and under different conditions Drummond would have been apirate.
"If it had been any other house than mine," he began, "and you had notbeen a fellow clubman an unexpected call like this might look a littledifficult of explanation."
Anthony Trent acted his part superbly. Drunkenness in others had alwaysinterested him. Drummond watching his vacuous face saw the inebriatedman's groping for a meaning admirably portrayed.
"What do yer mean?"
"Simply this," said Drummond distinctly. "At a time when I am supposedto be in bed you creep into my house without knocking or ringing. Youcome straight into a room where very valuable property is. While Ipersonally believe your story I doubt whether the police would. They aretaught to be suspicious. There would be a lot of scandal. Your mother,for instance, would be upset. New York papers revel in that sort ofthing. You have suppressed news in Boston papers but that doesn't gohere." He nodded his head impressively. "I wouldn't like to wager thatthe police would be convinced. In fact it might take a lot of publicitybefore you satisfied the New York police."
The idea seemed to amuse the younger man.
"Let's call 'em up and see," he suggested and made a lurching steptoward the phone.
"No, no," the other exclaimed hastily, "I wouldn't have that happen forthe world."
Over his visitor's face Drummond could see a look of laboringcomprehension gradually stealing. It was succeeded by a frown. An ideahad been born which was soon to flower in high and righteous anger.
"You're a damned old blackmailer!" cried Anthony Trent, struggling tohis feet. "When a gentleman comes to apologize you call him a robber.I'm going home."
Drummond stood over him threatening and powerful.
"I don't know that I shall let you," he said unpleasantly. "Why shouldI? You are so drunk that in the morning you won't remember a word I'vesaid to you. I'm going to make use of you, you young whelp. You'vedelivered yourself into my hands. If I were to sho
ot you for a burglar Ishould only get commended for it."
"Like hell you would," Trent chuckled, "that old girl with the caviaresandwiches would tell the jury we were conversing amiably. You'd swingfor it, Drummond, old dear, and I'd come to see your melancholy end."
"And there's another thing," Drummond reminded him, "you've got a badrecord. Your father didn't give up the Somerset Club because he likedthe New York ones any better. They wanted to get you away from certaininfluences there. I've got your whole history."
"Haven't you anything to drink?" Anthony Trent demanded.
From a cupboard in his black walnut desk Drummond took a large silverflask. He did not want his guest to become too sober. Since it was thefirst drink that Anthony Trent had taken that night he gulped eagerly.
"Good old Henessey!" he murmured. "Henessey's a gentleman," he addedpointedly.
"Look here," said Drummond presently after deep thought. "You've got togo home. I'm told there's a butler who fetches you from any low dive youmay happen to be."
"He hates it," Trent chuckled. "He's a prohibitionist. I made him one."
Drummond came over to him and looked him clear in the eye.
"What's your telephone number?" he snapped.
Trent was too careful a craftsman to be caught like that. He flung theBulstrode number back in a flash. "Ring him up," he commanded, "there'sa direct wire to his room after twelve."
"What's his name?" Drummond asked.
"Old Man Afraid of His Wife," he was told. Mrs. Kinney had told him ofthe nickname young Bulstrode had given the butler.
Drummond flushed angrily. "His real name? I'm not joking."
"Nor am I," Trent observed, "I always call him that." He put on anexpression of obstinacy. "That's all I'll tell you. Give me the phoneand let me talk."
It was a bad moment for Anthony Trent. It was probable that WilliamDrummond was going to call up the Bulstrode residence to make certainthat his visitor was indeed Graham Bulstrode. And if the butler were toinform him that the heir already snored in his own bed there must comethe sudden physical struggle. And Drummond was armed. He had not failedto observe that the door to the entrance hall was locked. When Drummondhad spoken to the servant outside he had taken this precaution. For amoment Trent entertained the idea of springing at the banker as he stoodirresolutely with the telephone in his hand. But he abandoned it. Thatwould be to bring things to a head. And to wait might bring safety.
But he was sufficiently sure of himself to be amused when he heardDrummond hesitatingly ask if he were speaking to Old Man Afraid of HisWife. The banker hastily disclaimed any intention of being offensive.
"Mr. Graham Bulstrode is with me," he informed the listener, "and thatis the only name he would give. I am particularly anxious that youinform his father I am bringing him home. Also," his voice sank to awhisper, "I must speak to Mr. Bulstrode when I come. I shall be therewithin half an hour. He will be sorry all his days if he refuses to seeme." As he hung up the instrument he noted with pleasure that youngBulstrode was conversing amicably with his old friend Henessey, whosebrandy is famous.
Drummond had mapped it all out. He would not stay to dress. Over hisdressing gown he would pull an automobile duster as though he had beensuddenly disturbed. He would accuse Graham of breaking in to steal. Hewould remind the chastened father of several Boston scandals. He couldsee the Back Bay blue blood beg for mercy. And the end of it would bethat in the society columns of the New York dailies it would beannounced that Mr. and Mrs. William Drummond had dined with Mr. and Mrs.Clent Bulstrode.
No taxi was in sight when they came down the steps to the silent street.Drummond was in an amazing good humor. His captor was now reducedthrough his friendship with Henessey to a silent phase of his failing.He clung tightly to the banker's stalwart arm and only twice attemptedto break into song. Since the distance was not great the two walked.Trent looked anxiously at every man they met when they neared theBulstrode mansion. He feared to meet a man of his own build wearing asilk lined Inverness cape. It may be wondered why Anthony Trent, fleetof foot and in the shadow of the park across which his modest apartmentlay, did not trip up the banker and make his easy escape. The answerlies in the fact that Trent was not an ordinary breaker of the law. Andalso that he had conceived a very real dislike to William Drummond, hisperson, his character and his aspirations. He was determined thatDrummond should ride for a fall.
A tired looking man yawning from lack of sleep let them into the house.It was a residence twice the size of Drummond's. The banker peered aboutthe vast hall, gloomy in the darkness. In fancy he could see Mrs.Drummond sweeping through it on her way to dinner.
"Mr. Bulstrode is in the library," he said acidly. That another shoulddare to use a nickname that fitted him so aptly filled him withindignation. He barely glanced at the man noisily climbing the stairs tohis bedroom, the man who had coined the opprobrious phrase. Drummond wasushered into the presence of Clent Bulstrode.
The Bostonian was a tall man with a cold face and a great opinion of hissocial responsibilities. The only New Yorkers he cared to know werethose after whose families downtown streets had been named.
"I am not in the habit, sir," he began icily, "of being summoned from mybed at this time of night to talk to a stranger. I don't like it, Mr.Dummles----"
"Drummond," his visitor corrected.
"The same thing," cried Bulstrode. "I know no one bearing either name. Ican only hope your errand is justified. I am informed it has to do withmy son."
"You know it has," Drummond retorted. "He broke into my house to-night.And he came, curiously enough, at a time when there was a deal of loosecash in my room. Mr. Bulstrode, has he done that before? If he has I'mafraid he could get into trouble if I informed the police."
It was a triumphant moment when he saw a look of fear pass overBulstrode's contemptuous countenance. It was a notable hit.
"You wouldn't do that?" he cried.
"That depends," Drummond answered.
Upon what it depended Clent Bulstrode never knew for there came thenoise of an automobile stopping outside the door. There was a honking ofthe horn and the confused sound of many voices talking at once.
Drummond followed the Bostonian through the great hall to the open door.They could see Old Man Afraid of His Wife assisting a young inebriate inevening dress. And his Inverness cape was lined with white silk and overhis eyes an opera hat was pulled.
The chauffeur alone was sober. He touched his hat when he saw Mr.Bulstrode.
"Where have you come from?" he demanded.
"I took the gentlemen to New Haven," he said.
"Has my son been with you all the evening?"
"Yes, sir," the chauffeur returned.
Drummond, his hopes dashed, followed Bulstrode to the library. "Now,"said the clubman sneering, "I shall be glad to hear your explanation ofyour slander of my son. In the morning I can promise you my lawyers willattend to it in detail."
"I was deceived," the wretched Drummond sought to explain. "A mandressed like your son whom I know by sight came in and----"
He went through the whole business. By this time the butler was standingat the open door listening.
"I can only say," Mr. Bulstrode remarked, "that these excuses you offerso glibly will be investigated."
"Excuses!" cried the other goaded to anger. "Excuses! I'll have you knowthat a father with a son like yours is more in need of excuses than Iam."
He turned his head to see the butler entering the room. There was anunpleasant expression on the man's face which left him vaguely uneasy.
"Show this person out," said Bulstrode in his most forbidding manner.
"Wait a minute," Drummond commanded, "you owe it to me to have thishouse searched. We all saw that impostor go upstairs. For all we knowhe's in hiding this very minute."
"You needn't worry," Old Man Afraid of His Wife observed. "He went outjust before Mr. Graham came back in the motor. I was going to see whatit was when the car came between us." The man t
urned to Clent Bulstrode."It's my belief, sir, they're accomplices."
"What makes you say that?" demanded his master. He could see an unusualexpression of triumph in the butler's eye.
"The black pearl stick pin that Mr. Graham values so much has beenstolen from his room."
"What have I to do with that?" Drummond shouted.
"Simply this," the other returned, "that you introduced this criminal tomy house and I shall expect you to make good what your friend took."
"Friend!" repeated the outraged Drummond. "My friend!"
"It is a matter for the police," Bulstrode yawned.
Drummond watched his tall, thin figure ascending the stairs. Plainlythere was nothing left but to go. Never in his full life had thingsbroken so badly for William Drummond. He could feel the butler's balefulstare as he slowly crossed the great hall. He felt he hated the man whohad witnessed his defeat and laughed at his humiliation. And Drummondwas not used to the contempt of underlings.
Yet the butler had the last word. As he closed the door he flung acontemptuous good-night after the banker.
"Good-night," he said, "Old Man Afraid of the Police."
* * * * *
A broken and dispirited man William Drummond, banker, came to his ownhouse. The pockets in which he had placed his keys were empty. There wasno hole by which they might have been lost and he had not removed thelong duster. Only one man could have taken them. He called to mind howthe staggering creature who claimed to be Graham Bulstrode had again andagain clutched at him for support. And if he had taken them, to what usehad they been put?
It seemed he must have waited half an hour before a sleepy servant lethim in. Drummond pushed by him with an oath and went hastily to theblack walnut desk. There, seemingly unmoved, was the paper that he hadpulled over the notes when the unknown came into the room. It was whenhe raised it to see what lay beneath that he understood to the full whata costly night it had been for him. Across one of his own envelopes wasscrawled the single word--Shylock.
Anthony Trent, Master Criminal Page 6