Part 6

As they entered the waiting car a gentleman on the other side of the street raised his hat. Miss Garwood bowed, and Joe acknowledged the salute mechanically. It was only when the car shot by the pedestrian that he recognized him as Mr. Stanley Ackerman.

"Hello!" he exclaimed. "Do you know that fellow?"

"Really, Joe," she replied, "I wish you wouldn't speak of my father's friends in that way." Her annoyance was genuine, but his words were not the cause of it. She disliked Ackerman and distrusted him. Also he knew the young man with the real estate pedigree.

"I can't congratulate your father on that particular friend," Kent observed bluntly, and became thoughtful.

Mr. Ackerman looked after the car and became thoughtful also. Shortly afterward he entered Hugh Garwood's office.

The president of the O. & N. would have been spare and shapely if he had taken ordinary exercise; but being far too busy a man to spend any time on the trifling matter of physical well-being his figure had run to seed. Only his head was lean and alertly poised, by virtue of the keen, ever-working brain within. The face was narrow, hard, and determined; and the mouth, set awry beneath the close-clipped gray moustache, was ruthless and grim. It was, in fact, a fairly good indication of his character and methods. He was never known to forego an advantage of any kind, and he was accustomed to bludgeon opponents into submission without being particular where he cut his clubs.

"Well, Ackerman," he said, "what's the news?"

Mr. Ackerman had no news. It was a fine day, though cool. Beautiful weather. Made a man want to be outdoors.

Garwood grunted. He was not interested in the weather, save as it affected business. Snow blockades and wash-outs and natural phenomena producing them received his attention. Apart from such things he scarcely knew whether a day was fine or not.

"All very well for people who have time to burn," he commented. "I haven't."

"Young people enjoy it," said Mr. Ackerman, getting his opening. "I saw your daughter go by in a car as I came downtown. Lovely girl that. I thought she looked remarkably well and happy."

"She ought to be happy," said her father grimly. "She spends enough money."

"You can afford it. It won't be long till some one else is paying her bills. Plenty of young men would think it a privilege."

Garwood, from his knowledge of Mr. Ackerman's indirect methods of approach, suddenly regarded him with attention.

"What are you driving at, anyway, Ackerman?" he asked. "_You_ don't want to marry her, do you?"

Mr. Ackerman disclaimed any such desire with haste and evident sincerity. "There was a very good-looking young fellow with her this afternoon," he observed.

"Trust her for that," growled Garwood. "Who was it? Young Statten?"

"No," said Mr. Ackerman slowly, enjoying the sensation in advance, "his name is Kent, Joseph Kent of Falls City."

"What?" cried Garwood, and straightened in his chair as if he had received a shock, as indeed he had.

"Yes," said Mr. Ackerman. "You remember she was in Falls City for some weeks this summer. I heard somewhere--you know how these things get about--that she and Kent were--well, in fact, I heard that they were together a great deal."

Garwood rapped out a man's size oath. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Knowing Miss Edith's penchant for innocent summer flirtations I attached no importance to it," smiled Mr. Ackerman.

Garwood sat frowning. "You may be right. That girl would flirt with a man's shadow. However, I'll put a stop to this at once. Now see here, Ackerman, you've bungled the Kent matter so far."

"I have not," denied Mr. Ackerman indignantly. "He simply would not sell. That's not my fault."

Garwood dismissed the protest with an impatient gesture. "The fact remains that I haven't got what I'm after. Crooks's business and Kent's are all that prevent us from controlling the lumber market on the O. & N. and the Peninsular. Crooks is pretty strong, but this winter must break Kent, and after that we'll get Crooks. We absolutely must have the water powers which Kent owns. He has a fortune in them, if he only knew it and had money enough to develop them, and we also need his mills. We must have these things, and there must be no mistake about it."

"If he doesn't deliver the logs he has contracted to deliver----" Ackerman began, but Garwood cut him short.

"It must be made impossible for him to deliver them. If he makes good it gives him a new lease of life and delays our plans; but if he doesn't cut the logs he can't deliver them, whether his drive is hung up or not."

"It was against my advice that his tender for the Wind River limits went through."

"I know. But he could ill afford to put up the cash for them. His credit is becoming badly strained. A small cut or non-delivery will be fatal to him."

"But how can we prevent his cutting?"

"Really, Ackerman, you are dense to-day," said Garwood. "Clancy Brothers have timber near Wind River. We can't touch the other camps, so far as I can see at present, but if you represent matters properly to the Clancys I think they will look after that one."

When Garwood went home that evening he called his daughter into his private room and went straight to the point.

"Now, Edith," said he, "I want to know what there is between you and young Kent."

She flushed angrily, immediately fixing the responsibility for the leak on Ackerman. "Who told you there was anything between us?"

"Never mind. Is it a fact?"

"Is what a fact?"

"Don't beat about the bush with me. How far has this flirtation of yours gone?"

"Not very far," she answered calmly. "Mr. Kent has merely asked me to marry him."

"What!" cried Garwood, "you don't mean to tell me you're engaged?"

"I suppose we are--in a way."

"This must stop," said Garwood. "I thought you had more sense. You can't marry him. He is a nobody; he is on the verge of bankruptcy; he is merely after my money."

She cast a sidewise glance at a long mirror and laughed at the lovely reflection. "You are not complimentary, papa. Don't you think a young man might fall in love with me for myself?"

"I am not talking of love, but of marriage," said Garwood cynically. "I won't have it, I tell you. You must drop Kent now."

"Why?"

"Because I say so," said her father, his mouth setting firmly. "I won't mince matters with you, Edith. Inside a year Kent will be looking for a clerk's job. You're not cut out for a poor man's wife."

"You mean that if I married him you would give me nothing?"

"You grasp my meaning exactly. Not a cent during my life nor after my death."

Edith Garwood sighed as plaintively as she could; but it was in fact a sigh of relief. It was put up to her so squarely that she had no choice, as she looked at it. She was already tired of Kent, anxious for an excuse to break with him, and she had secretly dreaded the affair coming to her father's knowledge. Now the worst was over. And she saw an opportunity of avoiding a scene with Joe, which she had dreaded also.

"Of course I haven't been brought up to marry a poor man," she said. "We would both be miserable, if it came to that. So it would be a mistake, wouldn't it?"

"Undoubtedly," responded Garwood, who, having carried his point much more easily than he expected, found a certain amusement in her mental processes, as one is entertained by the antics of a kitten.

"Then I suppose I shall have to give him up," she continued, with another beautifully plaintive sigh. "He is to call to-night. Will you tell him? Or shall I write him a note?"

"No doubt you know the correct procedure," said Garwood. "Write your note and give it to me. Make it firm and definite."

She nodded agreement. "And now, papa, don't you think I am a very dutiful, self-sacrificing daughter?"

Garwood reached for his check-book with a smile of grim comprehension. "How much does it cost me this time?" he asked.

When Joe called that evening he was shown into Hugh Garwood's study. The railway man, seated at his desk, eyed him keenly. Kent found the scrutiny unfriendly, and stiffened.

"I called to see Miss Garwood," said he. "My name is Kent."

"Sit down, Mr. Kent," said Garwood. "My daughter has given me this note for you. Will you please read it."

Joe read. It was brief and to the point, and wound up with perfunctory regrets. There was no possibility of misunderstanding it. He folded the missive.

"I presume you know the contents of this letter, Mr. Garwood?"

"I am aware of them, yes."

"Miss Garwood says that you object to her engagement to me. Will you kindly tell me why?"

"With pleasure. You are not in a position to marry, and you entrapped my daughter into a clandestine engagement, which was not a manly thing to do. In fact, to put it very plainly, you are trying to marry money."

"To put it just as plainly," said Joe, flushing, "I don't care about your money at all. I am in a position to marry. The secret engagement I own up to and take the blame for. I shouldn't have consented to it."

"Consented?" said Garwood sharply. "Then it was my daughter who suggested that?"

"Not at all," said Joe, lying manfully as he felt bound to do after the slip. "It was my fault entirely."

Garwood smiled cynically. "You needn't shoulder all the blame. I know her better than you do." He was rather surprised at the equanimity with which Kent accepted his dismissal. He had looked for a stormy interview with a disappointed, unreasonable youth who would protest and indulge in heroics. He felt quite kindly toward this young man, whose business, nevertheless, he intended to smash. Inwardly he made a note to offer him some sort of a job when that was accomplished. "I take back what I said a moment ago. But you must understand that there can be nothing between you and my daughter."

"I think I understand that very well," said Joe. "Glad to have made your acquaintance, Mr. Garwood. By the way, please tell Mr. Ackerman I recognized him to-day. Good night."

Edith Garwood, peeping from behind a drawn blind, expected to see an utterly crushed being slink from the house. What she saw was an erect young man who paused on the steps to light a cigar, cocked it up at a jaunty angle, and went down the street head up and shoulders back.

In fact, Joe Kent was shaking hands with himself. He had known for some time that his feeling for Edith Garwood fell far short of love; but as he looked at it, he could not tell her so. So that his dismissal, instead of plunging him into the depths of gloom, boosted his spirits sky-high.

"Thank the Lord!" he exclaimed fervently as he swung down the street. "Joe, my son, let this be a lesson to you. Cut out the girl proposition and stick to business." He became thoughtful. "So old Ackerman's a friend of Garwood's. And Garwood tells me I'm not in a position to marry. I wonder how he knows so much about it? I wonder----" He did not complete the sentence, but Garwood's words stuck in his recollection.

X

When Mr. Ackerman, following the hint received from Garwood, called at the office of Clancy Brothers, his reception was nothing short of frosty.

John Clancy was alone, and he regarded his visitor from beneath a lowering brow.

"Now, here's what I want to know about," said he. "How does it come that Kent gets them limits at Wind River? We tendered for them ourselves."

"Likely his tender was higher," said Mr. Ackerman with assumed carelessness.

"An' what's that got to do wid it?" demanded Clancy, who appeared to find this explanation inadequate. "Don't we give up strong to th' campaign fund? Neither young Kent nor his father ever gave a cent to it, and their politics is the other way. It's a raw deal we got, an' ye can say that we'll remember it. If them limits had gone to one of our own people we'd have said nawthin', for we could have fixed it wid him or he'd a had to fix it wid us. But th' way it is we're sore, an' we make no bones about sayin' so. Where's his pull, that's what we want to know? An' if it's come to this, that a young felly whose politics is agin ye an' who don't give up to th' fund can buy limits ahead of us, why, then, we're through an' be damned to ye! An' there's others who thinks the same way."

This unusually long and evidently heartfelt speech of Clancy's indicated a dissatisfaction which Mr. Ackerman, who held confidential relations with certain members of a thoroughly rotten and graft-ridden administration, could not afford to ignore.

"Oh, that's nonsense, Clancy," said Ackerman. "There was a reason why Kent got the limits and we'll see that you get something else."

"We want what we go after, an' we don't have to take what's handed to us," retorted Clancy unappeased. "See now, Ackerman, we know a thing or two. Here's Kent been makin' up to ould Garwood's girl. Garwood works his pull, an' th' limits goes to Kent. I have it from the inside that Garwood got them for him. Now, I'm not settin' our pull agin Garwood's--not by no manes--but we will not be used by you to double-cross him. We want no trouble wid Garwood."

"What do you mean?" Ackerman queried.

"I mane this: You tip us off to make a new contract wid Kent bekase the railway will raise the rates on boards. Ye don't do that for love of us, nor yet for a rake-off, for ye asked for none. So ye do it to hit Kent. Then he tenders for timber limits, an' Garwood, bekase the young man is keepin' company wid his daughter, sees he gets them. You an' Garwood do be thick together, an' it's strange you're knockin' his son-in-law-to-be. Me an' Finn will have no more to do wid it."

Mr. Ackerman chuckled at Clancy's very natural mistake. "If you think Garwood is a friend of Kent's you're wrong."

"Show me," said Clancy.

"There's nothing now between Garwood's daughter and Kent," responded Ackerman. "If Garwood had cared to use his influence for him the Peninsular would not have raised the rate on lumber. That's obvious enough, I should think."

"I'm talkin' about them limits," said Clancy obstinately.

"Well, admitting that Garwood is responsible for that, he had his reasons other than the one you mentioned. Kent has sunk a lot of money in that timber. He may not get it out again."

"Ye mane that the limits was onloaded onto him to tie up his cash resources?" said Clancy, comprehending.

"I didn't say so," said Mr. Ackerman, smiling sweetly, "but his business is involved already, and if anything unforeseen should occur he might smash."

"An' somebody might buy him in," Clancy commented with an appreciative grin. "I wish ye luck, but what do we get in place of our tender that was turned down?"

"Let me know what you want and I'll do my best for you," Ackerman promised. "Now, I understand you have some timber near Kent's Wind River limits?"

"Buttin' onto 'em at one line," Clancy replied. "That's why we tendered--to round out our holdin'."

"Are you cutting it this winter?"

"We are."

"Yourselves?"

"We jobbed it out."

"That's too bad," said Mr. Ackerman in disappointment. "I suppose the jobber is a good man?"

"A good man!" echoed John Clancy. "Is Rough Shan McCane a good man? If there's a worse one anywheres I never seen him."

"Then why did you give him the stuff to cut?"

"Bekase he'll put in the logs. He can drive a crew, drunk or sober."

"I thought liquor wasn't allowed in the camps?"

"No more it is--in most."

"I suppose," said Mr. Ackerman casually, "that if whiskey got into Kent's camp his work would suffer?"

John Clancy eyed him keenly. "Two an' two makes four," he said oracularly. "What are ye drivin' at? Put it in plain words."

Mr. Ackerman put it as plainly as his bias in favour of indirect speech would permit. Clancy considered with pursed mouth.

"These things works both ways," he said. "A loggin' war, wanst started bechune two camps, means hell an' docthers' bills to pay, to say nawthin' of lost time. What would we get out of it?"

Mr. Ackerman told him, prudently sinking his voice to little more than a whisper, and Clancy's eyes glistened.

"Them's good contracts," he commented. "I'll speak to Finn. He has it in for Kent."

This partial assurance seemed to satisfy Mr. Ackerman. "Is Kent still delivering lumber under your contract?" he asked.

"He is--as slow as he can. Ryan says we can't have the law on him for breach of contract yet. I had him write a letter makin' a bluff, an' Kent's lawyer wrote back callin' it. So there ye are."

"Well, I suppose it can't be helped," said Mr. Ackerman regretfully. But on the whole he was very well satisfied with the position of affairs, and left Clancy's office wearing the peculiarly bland, guileless smile which was his whenever he had succeeded in arranging a particularly unpleasant programme for some one else. The smile, however, lost something of its quality when, just outside the street door, he ran into Locke.

The lawyer glanced from him to Clancy Brothers' window lettering and back again, and smiled. His expression somehow reminded Mr. Ackerman of a dog that has found an exceedingly choice bone.

"Hallo, Ackerman!" said he. "What are you framing up now?"

"I don't think I understand you," said Mr. Ackerman with dignity.

"Well, here's something I wanted to ask you," Locke went on. "Is it a fact that the O. & N.--otherwise Garwood--has secured control of the Peninsular?"

The question was so entirely unexpected that Mr. Ackerman was almost caught off his guard, but he said:

"Control of the Peninsular? You must be joking."

"It is not a fact, then?" asked Locke.

"He may have bought some shares. But control--oh, no! that would be most unlikely. Our shares are all too strongly held."

"Not an impossibility, however?" Locke persisted.

"Humanly speaking, anything is possible," smiled Mr. Ackerman, getting his second wind. "Rumours are most unreliable things."

"Yes," Locke assented. "When did you and Garwood go into the lumber business?"

Once more Mr. Ackerman was taken flat aback. Figuratively speaking, he even gathered sternway. He simply stared at Locke for a moment.

"The--lumber--business?" he exclaimed, recovering power of speech. "My dear sir, I am not in the lumber business, save for a few shares which I own here and there."

"No?" Locke smiled unpleasant, open disbelief. "How about Garwood?"

"Why don't you ask him?" said Mr. Ackerman with unnecessary tartness.

"I will, one of these days," said Locke. "By the way, I'm going to subpoena both of you in my application to the commission."

"That will come on next year, I believe," said Mr. Ackerman with something very like a sneer.

"Probably next month," Locke retorted. "Good morning."

Locke's words were by no means random shots. Once convinced that Ackerman represented some person or persons inimical to Kent and Crooks, he sought for a clue. One by one he went over Ackerman's business associates, including Garwood, and discarded them one by one. Then came the rumour of Garwood's acquisition of the Peninsular, an acquisition almost coincident with the rise in rates. Therefore, Locke argued, Garwood somehow benefited by it. But how? The railway man was not known to be interested in lumber. Still, as Locke saw it, he must be.

"Here," said Locke to himself, "is this Central Lumber Company officered by dummies, capitalized for a mere trifle, and yet acquiring business after business. Why the secrecy? Who is behind it? Obviously some man or men who don't wish their identity known until they have accomplished a certain purpose. What is the purpose? So far it seems to be the buying out of existing lumber concerns. Ackerman approached Kent. For whom? Probably for this Central Lumber Company. Therefore Ackerman is one of those behind it. Ackerman's influence has been unfriendly to Kent in every way. Garwood no sooner acquired control of Peninsular stock than the rate on lumber was boosted. Ackerman is associated with him. Therefore it is not a wild hypothesis to say that Garwood is financing the Central Lumber Company."

Thus Locke argued to himself, and he found fresh confirmation in the methods adopted toward Kent, which were typically those of Hugh Garwood. Then, too, Mr. Ackerman's evident discomposure when directly charged with association with him in a lumber business was suspicious.

He arrived at these conclusions quite independently and mentioned them to no one. His surprise, therefore, was great when Joe Kent, dropping in one morning, asked what he knew about Hugh Garwood.

"Did it ever strike you," Joe asked, "that he may be the man behind?"

"It did," Locke answered, "but tell me how it happened to strike you."

"Well--it just occurred to me," replied Joe, embarrassed.

"Give up, give up," said the lawyer impatiently. "Don't hold out on your doctor, your banker, or your lawyer."

Thereupon Joe, under pledge of secrecy, outlined the conjunction of events. It was a slight thing, but another corroboratory circumstance. Suppressing Joe's part, Locke mentioned his suspicions to Crooks.

"I'll bet a thousand you're right," said the old lumberman thoughtfully. "Garwood, hey? He's the last man I'd have suspected. And usually the last man you suspect is the first man you ought to. It's just like him to cut a man's throat and then pick his pocket. Why, damn him"--Bill Crooks' voice rose in indignation--"his girl visited my girl for a month last summer. You know that, Joe; you used to trot around with her."

Joe reddened. Crooks went on:

"Well, what can we do about it? This is up to you, Locke. Start your game and I'll back it. So will Joe."

"I haven't got enough evidence to start anything," said Locke. "I hope to prove Garwood's connection with the Peninsular when our application to the Transportation Commission comes up for hearing. Outside of that our best chance lies in investigating this Central Lumber Company. I'll see what I can find out about them and you'd better get busy along the same line and pump every lumberman and dealer you know."

Kent's good spirits and increased cheerfulness were so noticeable that Jack Crooks, knowing of his recent flying trip, drew her own conclusions. Casually one evening she approached the subject.

"Of course you saw Edith?"

"Oh, yes, I saw her," Joe replied.

"She must have been very glad to see you?"

Joe smiled enigmatically. "Well, Jack, she didn't exactly fall on my neck. I don't think I brightened up life for her to any extent."

"Modest young man. Are you aware that you have worn a sunny smile ever since you returned? You can't bluff me, Joe. Why don't you own up?"

"Own up to what?" Joe's smile became a broad grin.

Jack thought he looked idiotically pleased. To her eyes his face expressed the good-natured fatuity of the recently engaged man who rather likes to be joked about it--a being whom she despised. She was disappointed in Joe.

"If you expect me to jolly you into admitting your engagement to her you're making a mistake," she said coldly. "I can wait till you see fit to announce it."

"Are you sure you can?" he teased.

"Very nicely. And I beg your pardon for what must have seemed an impertinent curiosity." She regarded him with an icy dignity.

"Fine speech, that," Joe commented genially. "It's from some third act, isn't it? And then I say: 'Ah, Beatrice, why that cold and haughty tone? Me life holds no secrets from you: me heart----'"

"Joe Kent, I'll throw something at you!" she cried indignantly. Then she laughed. "Joe, I'll come down to the ploughed ground. You and Edith were very much taken with each other, and when you come back, wearing an idiotic grin, I'm entitled to suppose. I confess to curiosity. Come, now; give up, like a good boy!"

"There's nothing to give up," said Joe frankly. "Not a thing."

"I know better," said Jack. "Edith was in a very confidential mood one night and she told me something. Afterward she regretted it and swore me to secrecy. Does that make any difference?"