Part 20

I was reluctant to surrender my place as dispenser of fortune, even for a brief space of time. The position of a financial magnate in a period of storm and stress was not one that I could conscientiously describe as free from anxieties and perturbations. But it was clothed with power, and power possesses a fascination of its own. Monarchs do not abdicate, except under compulsion; and even among minor office-holders, whose mastership is far more limited than that of a millionaire in business, we have the word of a president that "few die and none resign." But at the compelling glance of William T. Coleman I signed my name to twelve checks, and said that I was happy to attend him.

During our hasty luncheon I told of the warning of coming outbreak that had been given me by Big Sam, of the words of Parks, and of the information I had received from Clark. Then, at his inquiries, I told all that I knew of the Council of Nine--its organization from among the anarchists, socialists and communists, its visionary idea of seizing the city government, and the manner in which it was using the anti-Chinese agitation to secure the physical force to bring about its revolutionary ends.

"You think the anti-Chinese leaders are being used without their knowledge?" asked Coleman thoughtfully.

"To a large extent, yes. They know, of course, that these men have wider designs, but they do not take them seriously."

"Nevertheless," said Coleman, "they may prove dangerous in a crisis like this. They have the reckless courage of leadership that may turn a mob into a destroying body. We must do everything we can to hasten the enrollment and organization of the Committee of Safety's forces. By the way, have you signed the roll yet?"

"No. I haven't had time to think of it."

"This will never do. You are a leading citizen now and must set a good example. Come with me. We have our headquarters in the Chamber of Commerce rooms for the day, but at night we shall assemble in Horticultural Hall. We are going to have a big force, and must have a big armory."

The assembly hall of the Chamber of Commerce was fitted up with desks, and a score of clerks were busy with books and papers. Two or three hundred men had gathered in the hall, and the clerks were surrounded by confused but orderly groups. Coleman led me to one of the desks, and I signed my name while he himself pinned on my coat the badge of the Vigilantes.

As I wrote, I was astonished to see a dozen lines above my pen the signature of Peter Bolton, and it struck fire to my anger that the arch-conspirator--the man who had inspired the disorder that threatened the city--should have enrolled his name among those who pledged their lives and fortunes to its defense. I gave a quick look about the room with the thought that I should discover the spare face and sardonic smile of the curmudgeon enjoying the flutter into which he had thrown the solid men of the city. But he was nowhere to be seen, and I debated whether I should call Mr. Coleman's attention to the matter; but as I remembered that Wharton Kendrick had checked a mention of Bolton's name in Coleman's own house, and saw no present purpose to be served by the discovery, I followed the sound rule of keeping my mouth shut. And as William T. Coleman retired to the office of the Committee of Twenty-four, I returned to my duties.

On entering the door of my office I was given a shock of surprise. A man of spare figure, tall, with bowed and narrow shoulders, sat facing Partridge and Nelson, and presented only his back to my view; but the back was unmistakably the back of Peter Bolton. Nelson leaned forward, watching him with close attention, while Partridge was running rapidly through a bundle of papers.

"I've got to have the money," were the first words that came to me in Peter Bolton's complaining voice. "Here are the securities--pretty good securities, too--better than you took from Packenham, or Hooper, or a dozen others--ten times as good as you took from the Sundown Bank."

Partridge swiftly sorted the papers into two packets. The larger one he threw across the desk to Bolton.

"The banks will take those," he said with crisp brevity. "We can advance three hundred thousand on the others, if necessary. What do you want to do with the money?"

Peter Bolton gave his head a slow shake.

"I've got to save myself from going under," he said in a whining tone. "I've got notes to pay, and three hundred thousand dollars won't cover them. I ought to have a million."

"Let's see the statement of your liabilities," said Partridge.

Peter Bolton fumbled in his inside coat pocket, brought out a large pocket-book, untied the string with which he had secured it, and then looked through its bulging compartments.

"I don't like to show it," he complained. "It's Private Business, and I don't like to trust any one with my Private Business."

"Suit yourself," said Partridge. "Try some other place if you like."

Peter Bolton's trembling hand brought out a sheet of paper from one of the recesses of the pocket-book, and passed it over to Partridge.

"There it is," he said. "You can see I've got to have money right away. If I don't pay them notes, I'll be posted on the Exchange; and you can't afford to have that happen. If I go down, there'll be such a smash in the markets as you've never seen. I shan't go down alone."

Partridge rapidly drew his pencil through several of the items of Peter Bolton's statement.

"Those will renew," he said. "You can get four hundred thousand from the banks on the securities you have in your hand. Three hundred thousand will be enough for us to let you have. It will see you through."

"I don't see how I am to get along without more than that," said Peter Bolton, with a slow shake of the head. "But I'll do the best I can with it." He gave the outward evidences of dissatisfaction, but there was an undertone of triumph in his voice, inaudible to any ear but mine.

I had listened thus far without an attempt to interrupt. I was curious to see what plea Peter Bolton would make in support of his audacious attempt to turn the syndicate's money against the syndicate's objects; and it had not occurred to me as possible that Partridge and Nelson would fail to penetrate his scheme. I forgot for the moment that my colleagues were not informed of the purposes of the arch-plotter, and it was therefore with something of a shock that I heard Partridge consent to put three hundred thousand dollars into Bolton's hands, and saw Nelson dip his pen in ink to fill out the check.

"I beg pardon," I said, stepping forward, "but I think it will be better to hold that money."

At the sound of my voice Peter Bolton gave a violent start, and for a moment his face turned ashy gray, as he seized the arms of the chair to support himself. Then with an effort he recovered his self-possession, and gave me a nod that was meant to be ingratiating.

"Well," said Partridge, "if you'd like to look over Mr. Bolton's papers, here they are."

I waved them away.

"I don't doubt your judgment on the securities. It is beyond question. I merely object to making the loan at all."

Peter Bolton raised his hand, threw back his head with open mouth, and spoke in his most sarcastic drawl.

"Some Young Men like to interfere with Other Men's Business. But all that has been discussed. The matter is settled."

I took up the signed checks that lay before Nelson and replied:

"Oh, no; there are several points to be explained before we go further."

"We haven't time to run a debating club," said Nelson, a little huffed by my strategic move in securing the checks. "We have consented to the loan for excellent reasons. Mr. Bolton's failure would be certain to start the panic we have been staving off for two days."

"Very true. But Mr. Bolton is unduly anxious. He is in no more danger of failing than the Bank of California."

Peter Bolton turned on me with suppressed anger glowing in his eyes, and drew down the corners of his mouth in a sarcastic snarl.

"Maybe, young man, you know more about My Business than I know."

"I shouldn't put it that way," I retorted. "I should say that I know more about your business than you are ready to tell."

Peter Bolton drew down the corners of his mouth again and turned to Partridge with the air of putting me aside.

"Young Men have Strange Ideas," he drawled, "but you are Men of Experience, and you know what it means to refuse this loan. If you are sure a Panic would help your Business, why, all you have to do is to say I can't have the money. If I don't get it, I'll be posted on the Exchange this afternoon."

"And I warn you that Mr. Bolton is perfectly solvent," I said.

Partridge rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and Nelson studied the floor in perplexity.

"I am inclined to overrule Mr. Hampden in this matter," said Partridge; "but he represents Mr. Kendrick, and I don't wish to go in flat opposition to his judgment."

Peter Bolton gave me a malignant glance.

"Judgment! judgment!" he exclaimed in his most sarcastic drawl. "The Young Man knows that Kendrick and I haven't been on good terms, and he thinks he can Curry Favor by ruining me. But if I can have a word with him, I can convince him it's to Kendrick's interest to keep me afloat this time." And seizing my arm, he attempted to draw me to the other end of the room.

"I don't care to hear anything you can't say before these gentlemen," I replied.

"Come just a minute," he persisted, with a wheedling tone in his voice, and drew me to a farther corner. Then he said in a low, eager tone: "It will be fifty thousand dollars in your pocket if you say yes."

"No!" was my curt reply.

"It will be cash," he urged. "You can hold the money out from the advance from the committee. You'll be perfectly safe."

"No!" I repeated, with the emphasis of disgust, and walked swiftly back to the desk. For an instant I had the resolve to explain to my fellow-members the offense that Peter Bolton had proposed. But an uneasy conscience reminded me that I had brought it upon myself, and instead of revealing the shameless offer, I said sharply:

"I ought to have saved time by telling you at the first that nothing could serve this man's profit so well as a panic. He above all other men is responsible for the present troubles, and any money advanced to him will be used against the interests we are here to protect."

Peter Bolton's hand trembled, and a look of desperation came into his eyes. Otherwise he gave no sign of lessening self-possession.

"It's a lie, it's a lie!" he cried. "I shall be ruined." Nelson turned to me.

"That is a very serious assertion. You should be certain of your ground to make such a charge."

"He can't prove it. It's a lie!" repeated Peter Bolton eagerly.

"Mr. Bolton is the father of the present crisis," I said. "He is the financial backer of the agitators that the Committee of Safety has been organized to put down. It was not so much as two weeks ago that he paid thirty thousand dollars to the Council of Nine."

Peter Bolton attempted to resume his sarcastic air, and drew down the corners of his mouth into his sardonic mask, though his lip trembled with the effort.

"You can't believe lies like that," he said, in appeal to Partridge and Nelson.

"And last night," I continued, "he received two members of the Council of Nine in his office, and paid them a sum of money that I believe was ten thousand dollars. It may have been twenty. An armed outbreak is planned for to-night. If it comes, there stands the man who furnished the money for it." And I pointed an accusing finger at the spare, bent form of the arch-conspirator.

At this evidence of the accuracy of my information, the sallow face of Peter Bolton once more turned to an ashy gray, and he looked from side to side as though seeking some avenue of escape. Then he faced me.

"You're talking nonsense," he cried with tense determination in his voice. "Nobody will believe you. You ought to be sent to the asylum."

I looked into his eyes.

"Waldorf and Parks are within call," I said with calm and assured mendacity. "Shall I bring them in?"

Peter Bolton dropped his eyes, trembled as he stood silent for a moment, then seized his papers and walked to the door. As his hand was on the knob, he turned and shook his fist at us.

"I'll smash you yet!" he cried in a harsh voice, his anger getting the better of his fears. "I'll smash you and that scoundrel Kendrick. I'll grind the whole pack of you down into the dirt." And he went out with unexpected nimbleness, and slammed the door behind him.

I looked at my associates with a word of self-congratulation on my tongue. But the shamed and apologetic air with which they studied the documents before them stopped my mouth. It was evident that they needed no one to inform them that they had been gulled by Peter Bolton, and I had the discretion to perceive that the temper of the office would not be improved by discussion of the circumstances. So I took my seat without a word.

The stream of imperiled merchants again trickled through the room, and for an hour we worked rapidly and with exemplary harmony. The self-esteem of Partridge, cut down by the treacherous hand of Peter Bolton, spread and blossomed once more as his skill in estimating the value of securities and the needs of borrowers was put to the test and proved without flaw. The phlegmatic Nelson had shown his discomposure for but a moment, so we were again upon a footing of close confidence.

It was half-past two when Brown, Wharton Kendrick's head clerk, peered in at the door and beckoned to me with a face full of trouble. I made some excuse, and followed him to his office. He closed and locked the door and looked at me in silent dismay.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"We're ruined!" he gasped.

"What's that?" I cried.

"We must close the doors--unless you have three hundred and fifty thousand," he whispered slowly.

He looked at me with the white face and colorless lips of a man in the final stages of nausea. The misfortunes of Wharton Kendrick were taken to heart by at least one man.

"It's some of Mr. Kendrick's notes," he said. "They've just been presented. There's four hundred and fifty thousand of them altogether--lacking a few hundreds, and all the money we've got is a little over one hundred thousand."

"Where do these notes come from? Who presents them?"

"They are made out to different persons; but they are presented by the El Dorado Bank."

"Didn't Mr. Kendrick make any provision to meet them?"

"Maybe he did--I suppose so, for some of them are three weeks overdue. But he never said anything to me about them."

"Let me see them."

The bank's messenger was brought in, and I scrutinized the notes he presented. They were on their face made payable to a dozen or more men--some to one, some to another--but all had been indorsed to Peter Bolton.

There was no time to waste in lamentations, and there was but one resource in sight. I bade the messenger wait a minute, and hastened back to the syndicate's office.

"Here are three checks for you to sign," said Partridge. "The men are waiting for them in the anteroom."

They were for but small amounts, and I hastily added my name to the slips.

"I have something more important yet to lay before you," I said boldly. "I want three hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

"What's that?" cried Partridge.

Nelson looked too shocked for words, and I repeated my request.

"What do you want it for?" demanded Partridge.

"Gentlemen," I replied, "I am sorry to say that we are face to face with the greatest danger we have yet met. Peter Bolton has made good his threat. He has struck quick and hard. He has presented for payment through the El Dorado Bank nearly four hundred and fifty thousand of Wharton Kendrick's notes, and there is only one hundred thousand in the house to pay them with. I must ask you for the balance."

Partridge drew a whistle of surprise, and Nelson turned pale.

"The old fox!" cried Nelson. "We might have known he was up to mischief."

"And he put them in through the El Dorado Bank," said Partridge reflectively. "I wonder if he is with the bank's wrecking combination."

"He is at the head of it," I said.

Partridge drummed on the desk with nervous fingers, and his face took on a grim look. As neither of my associates spoke, I said:

"Well, there can be no doubt of our duty to support Wharton Kendrick in this emergency."

"Of course not," said Partridge. "What security can you offer?"

"Haven't the least idea," I replied curtly.

"You'd better make us a general assignment," said Nelson. "I suppose that will cover it."

"I couldn't think of doing such a thing," I replied, restraining my indignation with an effort. "A note will have to do."

"It's a very irregular proposition," said Nelson. "Even the Sundown Bank has put up a pretense of collateral."

"Well," I returned, "as a business proposition, wouldn't you rather hold Wharton Kendrick's note than the Sundown Bank's collateral?"

"Yes, of course--provided Wharton Kendrick lives. But Wharton Kendrick is likely to die. The question we have to consider is, What will his note be worth in the Probate Court?"

"You see how it is," said Partridge, with the patient air of one instructing a novice. "If you haven't anything to pledge, why, an assignment is the thing."

I faced my associates with the determination to yield nothing.

"I act on the assumption that Wharton Kendrick will get well," I replied. "And if he gets well only to find that I have made a general assignment of his business, how much further do you suppose he will trust me with his affairs?"

"That's all right for you," said Partridge. "But how shall we look when we present our account to the syndicate and show that we have loaned one of our members three hundred and fifty thousand without security? How long do you think it would be before we got a chance to handle any more of their money? We'd be waiting till the next day after never, I guess."

The knot of circumstances seemed to be pretty firmly tangled, and I saw no way but to cut it by a bold stroke.

"I don't want to act without your consent--" I began.

"You have no right to act without our consent," interrupted Partridge, with quick insight into my resolve.

"Right or not, I have the power. And you will be relieved of responsibility if I pay the money without your consent."

"You wouldn't do that!" cried Nelson and Partridge in a breath, their faces showing signs of rising temper.

"I certainly shall do it before I see Wharton Kendrick's notes go to protest and a financial panic start in San Francisco."

Partridge and Nelson looked at me with concern and anger pictured on their faces. But before either could speak, the door opened and William T. Coleman entered.

"You're just in time, Coleman," said Partridge explosively. "See if you can't put reason into this young man's head."

"What's the trouble?" asked Coleman, looking calmly at the flushed and angry countenances before him.

Partridge and I attempted to explain our positions at the same time, but Coleman picked out the facts from the confusion, and with a few tactful questions had the situation clearly in his mind.

"The solution is very simple," he said. "Wharton Kendrick subscribed five hundred thousand to the syndicate. Mr. Hampden will assign us three hundred and fifty thousand out of that sum, and we shall be perfectly protected."

Coleman's plan was so logical and businesslike a way out of our difficulties that I breathed a sigh of relief, and the anger of my associates evaporated in a laugh at our stupidity in not thinking of it for ourselves.

"How much does that leave in the fund?" asked Coleman, when I had taken up the notes, and sent the clerk on his way.

"A trifle over twenty-three thousand."

"Gentlemen," said Partridge, rising with a theatric gesture, "the syndicate retires from business. Thank Heaven it is striking three."

"And what of to-morrow?" I asked.

Partridge shrugged his shoulders.

"I wish to God I knew," he said.

*CHAPTER XXVI*

*ON THE PRECIPICE*

The air of gloom that enveloped Wharton Kendrick's home was almost physical in its intensity. It was with apprehension that I awaited the opening of the door, and it was with anxious eagerness that I looked to Mercy Fillmore as she stood behind the servant who answered my ring.

"Oh, Mr. Hampden," she exclaimed, as she advanced and gave me her hand, "I have been wishing you would come."

I was gratified at the tone of relief and confidence with which she spoke, but my response was to ask of the condition of Wharton Kendrick.

"He is still out of his head," she replied, dropping into a seat. "Sometimes he talks a little--a few broken words--but most of the time he lies there silent, with vacant eyes. If it were not for his heavy breathing we should hardly know that he was alive." Her sympathetic face was filled with concern as she spoke.

"What does the doctor say?"

"He tries to look cheerful and speak confidently, but it is such an effort, I am afraid. Yet for Laura's sake I hope, and try to be convinced by the doctor's words." Then she added quickly: "I said I wanted to see you. Mr. Parks was here to-day. We had a long talk, and truly, Mr. Hampden, I want you to believe that he is a man of noble impulses. He is so unselfish, so eager for the good of others."

"I don't complain about his instincts. His heart is in the right place, as the saying goes, but his head is upside down."

"Oh, Mr. Hampden, you do not understand him!" said Mercy in a pained voice.

"Perhaps not; but surely he has not convinced you that he is wise to engage in such desperate enterprises as the overthrow of the government?"

Mercy was silent a little, and then she said:

"I should be glad if he could see some other way to work for the good of the people, but I am not wise myself, so how can I judge him? He tells me that it is not right to reason from womanly fears. Do you think he is in danger, Mr. Hampden? He is planning some important enterprise for to-night. Is there anything we can do to save him?"

My private opinion was that Parks would end by getting shot or thrown into jail. But I could not pain Mercy with any such brutal statements, so I soothed her fears as best I could. "We can't influence him to keep out of the movement," I said, "but ten to one it won't amount to anything but a lot of oratory, and hard words break no bones. You have no cause to worry about him."

"Well, I'm glad to hear you say so," said Mercy, looking relieved. "And now I want to tell you about Danny Regan. You know that Moon Ying recognized him as that old Chinaman's express-man?"

"Yes. She told me."

"Well, I talked to him until he confessed the whole plot to me. It began last week, after a good deal of bargaining, when he agreed to steal the girl. He came late one night with two others, and thought there would be nobody watching the house. But your men surprised them coming over the fence, and caught Danny's friend. He is the sergeant-at-arms of an anti-coolie club, he said. Danny and the other one got away. Then Danny came around in the daytime, and pretended to be a tramp, and got something to eat and talked everything out of the cook. She told him all about Moon Ying, and where she slept, and Danny raised a company to attack the house. He was going to set it on fire, and capture the girl as we all ran out, and when the hoodlums came in front, he thought it would be easy. I asked him how he could do such a thing, and his excuse was that he was drunk. He wants to know if you are going to have him arrested, and tries to lay the blame on the Chinaman he calls Little John. Do you intend to put him in jail?"

"I can't think of a better place for him. How soon can he be moved?"