Part 10

"I think," he assured Mrs. Challoner, "that I have found more than one hook to hang a hat on. It looks to me like a reversal."

"I am sure it will be," she replied.

Her assurance was the same assurance that had sustained her in the trial. There was still that mysterious something that Thorne could not understand. She seemed the incarnation of hope.

"What do you think, chief?" asked McGrath of Murgatroyd, one day after the appeal had been argued.

Murgatroyd shrugged his shoulders.

"That verdict will stick," was his only comment.

"By the way," said McGrath, "Pemmican keeps mum up there in jail; but he's getting restless as thunder. He wants to know how soon you're going to try him on this gambling charge."

Murgatroyd smiled.

"In due course," he returned, "but you can tell Pemmican unofficially that the quickest way for him to get on trial--or in fact the quickest way for him to get off without trial--to get out of jail, is to let me know the name of the man higher up. I'm looking for John Doe, and I expect to keep Pemmican under lock and key until I get him. You understand?"

"He sure does kick," laughed McGrath.

Shirley and Miriam and even Challoner watched the course of events with great interest. Miriam's mouth was sealed upon the question of the bribe, but Challoner absorbed what he had heard in the court-room, and hazy though it had been, he noted that Miriam's manner was still hopeful, in fact, certain. Shirley, too, felt, rather than knew, that Murgatroyd had removed from himself not the taint of bribery, but the violation of his compact. She felt the thing was cut and dried.

One day the Clerk of the Court of Errors and Appeals placed in the hands of a special messenger a document some five pages long. It was a carbon copy.

"Take that to the prosecutor of the pleas," he commanded, "and tell him it's advance. The original," he added, "will be on file to-morrow."

Murgatroyd received and read it with inward satisfaction. As he was perusing it, Mixley rushed into his private room, and yelled in alarm:--

"Chief! Chief! Look at this!" He, too, held in his hand a document composed of several sheets of yellow paper, scribbled over with a soft, black, lead-pencil. "It's from the warden--" he whispered.

Murgatroyd laid down his carbon copy and took Mixley's yellow sheets. He read the first page and rose to his feet.

"When did all this happen, Mixley?" he asked in a tense voice, with difficulty restraining his excitement.

"About an hour ago."

"Who was the keeper that took this down?"

"Jennings."

Murgatroyd tapped the yellow sheets impatiently, and asked:--

"How did he kill himself?"

"Cyanide! Smuggled in somehow, nobody knows."

Murgatroyd read the yellow sheets again.

"Great Caesar!" he exclaimed.

Mixley, still lingering, now asked:--

"Any news from the Court of Errors and Appeals?"

Murgatroyd nodded.

"Here's their opinion--just handed down."

"Reversal?"

Murgatroyd shook his head.

"No. Affirmed. By the way, Mixley," he added, "take this carbon copy over to Thorne, will you? He'll want to see it."

"Shall I tell him?" faltered Mixley.

"Tell him nothing," Murgatroyd replied. "Officially I know nothing of this other thing. I'll investigate it first, then I can talk to him."

That very day, Thorne, disappointed as he was, sent a copy of the opinion up to Mrs. Challoner, without comment. Later over the phone he told her:--

"There is no hope."

But Miriam Challoner was not downcast. She had doubted once; but now she held to her faith in Murgatroyd; she knew that Murgatroyd would keep his word. Shirley, though, shook her head. She felt that Challoner was doomed. But when Thorne told her, she begged him not to tell Challoner until it was absolutely necessary.

And also on that same day Murgatroyd jumped into a cab and rode off on a tour of private inspection. Entering a large building he asked:--

"I want to see Jennings, if you please."

The next day he sent for Thorne.

"Before making things public, Thorne," he said, "I wanted you to read that."

Thorne read with bulging eyes the yellow sheets that were thrust before him. Over and over again he read them; then he leaned over and touched Murgatroyd on the arm, saying:--

"Don't make it public."

"Why not?"

"There are political reasons--many of them," pleaded Thorne.

"But it's bound to leak out----"

"Never mind. I don't want it made public." Thorne seemed terribly uneasy.

But again Murgatroyd persisted:--

"What of Mrs. Challoner?"

"I'll take care of Mrs. Challoner," responded Thorne. "Just leave the whole thing to me. I'll see that everything is done."

"I'll go with you before the Court at any time you please," said Murgatroyd.

And that very day they did go before the Court. The Court opened its eyes and heard what they had to say.

"Well, well!" exclaimed the Court.

A little while afterward Broderick and Thorne sat closeted. Every crisis found them with their heads together.

"Broderick," said the lawyer, "this is going to hurt Cradlebaugh's more than ever. The Challoner case has jumped from the frying pan into the fire." His grip tightened on Broderick. "This thing has got to be hushed up."

"If it's got to be, it can be," declared the politician.

"But there's the Court order?"

Broderick grinned as he said:--

"There's men has got to file it--men that know how to file papers so blamed far in the pigeon-holes that even a newspaper man can't crawl in after 'em. They'll do just as I say."

"Somebody's bound to find it out."

"Not if I stretch out this hand," answered Broderick. "That there hand has covered a multitude of sins." He squinted at Thorne. "But there's just one person I'm afraid of in this thing."

Thorne's nod seemed to say:

"Murgatroyd."

Broderick shook his head.

"No, not a bit of it. You take my word for it, Murgatroyd will never open his mouth again on the subject of the Challoner case. He took that cash--he can't fool me!"

Thorne sighed:--

"You think we're safe with him?"

Broderick dismissed the subject of the prosecutor with a wave of the hand.

"Mrs. Challoner is the fly in the ointment."

Thorne, in turn, quite as vigorously dissented:--

"You're wrong there. I'll handle Mrs. Challoner. If she ever asks questions, I'll answer her with the right kind of answers. Don't worry, Broderick," and looking at his watch, added: "You'd better be about it and do your little part."

"I'll do mine as soon as you do yours."

"What's mine now?"

Broderick held out his hand, and said:--

"A little cheque, counsellor."

And again on that very day the doors of the big building that Murgatroyd had visited opened wide. From them there stepped forth a man--no, four men--four men laden heavily. With these four men was a fifth, but he was unseen. Between them, in the full light of day, the four men carried a long, oak box, carried it quietly but swiftly, and swung it suddenly into a battered-looking hearse.

"That's the end of him!" they said among themselves.

XII

Somewhere on the East Side, beyond Gramercy Park and Irving Place, with their beautiful old houses; beyond Stuyvesant Square, once equally famous for the princely hospitality of its residents; still further on in that section which lies toward the river, where the women and children as well as the men toil unceasingly for the bare necessities of life, where evidences of poverty and suffering are all about, and which is commonly termed "the slums"; somewhere there, we say, in one of the smaller tenement buildings, some months later, Miriam Challoner, one time wealthy and fashionable woman of society, took refuge.

Within this new-found home--a nest consisting of two rooms--everything was scrupulously neat; but except for a small gilt chair that caught the rays of the sunlight, and that seemed fully as incongruous to its surroundings as was the woman herself, there was nothing in its furnishings to remind one of former prosperity. In a far corner of the adjoining room was a stove on which a frugal meal was cooking, sending its odour throughout the small apartment--a meal that in former days she would not have thought possible even for her servants. At the window of this room,--which was bedroom and living-room combined,--upon a small table was a typewriter, before which sat Miriam Challoner, clad in a sombre dress that was almost nun-like in its severity. She was pale, and on her face was the look of a woman acquainted with grief.

She read as she wrote:--

"Now this indenture witnesseth,--comma,--that the said party of the first part,--comma,--for the better securing the payment of the said sum of money mentioned in the condition of the said bond or obligation,--comma,--with interest thereon,--comma,--according to the true intent and meaning thereof,--semicolon,--and also for and in consideration of the sum of one dollar,--comma,--to him in hand well and duly paid----"

Suddenly she halted and fingered the copy lying on the table at her right.

"Twenty more pages--I can't do them now ..." she muttered half-aloud, and crossing the room unsteadily, threw herself upon the bed--a cheap bed that groaned and creaked as if it felt her weight upon it.

"... tired--I'm so tired," she moaned, as she lay there supinely for some time. All of a sudden, she sat bolt upright in bed, for the sound of a timid knock on the door had reached her ears; but thinking, perhaps, that she had been dreaming, she waited until the knock was repeated, and only then did she cry out:--

"Well? What is it?"

There was no answer. A moment more, and she was at the door confronting a man and a woman, both gaily caparisoned. They stood hand in hand, sheepishly, smilingly, the woman looking more like some guilty child, who was being brought to task by an over-indulgent parent. For a brief second, that seemed interminably long to Mrs. Challoner waiting for them to speak, they stood thus; and it was not until they called her name that she recognised them.

"Mrs. Challoner--we thought--" they stammered in chorus.

"Why, it's Stevens," Mrs. Challoner broke in, at last, "and you too, Foster!" and the colour instantly went flying from her lips to her cheeks.

"Yes, ma'am," again came in chorus from Stevens and Foster, late butler and lady's maid to Mrs. Challoner, and still hand in hand.

"Oh, Mrs. Challoner," then spoke up Foster, "what do you think? We've gone and got married!"

"Married? Foster! Stevens! Why, yes, of course, you do look like bride and groom," said Mrs. Challoner, her heart for the moment sinking at all this happiness; and then: "Come in, and do tell me all about it."

"Mrs. Challoner," quickly put in Stevens, as they came into the room, "she pestered me 'till I had to marry her--there was no getting rid of her."

A faint smile crossed Miriam's face, and soon she found herself entering into the happiness of this couple, just as she would have done in the old days; and so well did they succeed in making her forget her present position, that she was actually trying to determine what would be a most appropriate and, at the same time, a most pleasing gift to them. Absorbed, therefore, in her laudable perplexities, it was quite a long time before she fully realised that there were but two chairs, a fact which had not escaped the eyes of these well-trained servants, who still remained standing in the centre of the room; and when, at last, the truth dawned upon her, it was with the greatest difficulty that she kept back the tears, as half-coaxingly, half-authoritatively she prevailed upon the terribly embarrassed pair to occupy them, while she seated herself on the edge of the bed.

"Yes, ma'am," resumed Foster, determined to tell all there was to tell, "there were about six men that I could have married as well as not--not like Stevens, but big, fine-looking men, every one of them. But Stevens here got in such a way about it, that I felt sorry for him, and I gave them all the go-by for him. But there's one thing certain," she concluded with a sigh, "I didn't marry for good looks, nor for money either, for that matter."

"You married for love, Foster, and that is so much better," commented Mrs. Challoner, revelling in their joy.

"I dare say," conceded Foster, "that I'll come to love him in time."

"Yes, ma'am," put in Stevens, eager to get in a word, "she bothered me until I finally succumbed, though my tastes were--well, ma'am, I must admit that I like 'em a little plumper."

To Miriam Challoner, it was indeed a treat to hear their good-natured banter. Presently she asked with interest:--

"What are you doing now, Stevens?"

"He's a _sho_fer, ma'am," spoke up Foster quickly with pride.

"A what?" inquired Mrs. Challoner.

"A show_fure_, ma'am," corrected Stevens with dignity. "She'll learn in time.... I'm working for Bernhardt, the brewer--a hundred dollars a month, ma'am."

"Indeed! So you're a chauffeur, and earning one hundred dollars a month!" exclaimed Miriam Challoner. "Why that's fine!" And a hundred dollars never seemed larger to any one's eyes.

Stevens shrugged his shoulders as he answered in an offhand manner:--

"What's a hundred----"

"A hundred dollars a month!" again sighed Mrs. Challoner; and fell to planning what that sum would do for her.

Suddenly, Stevens broke in upon her thoughts, with:--

"What a cosy little place you have, ma'am!" And turning to Foster: "I hope we can have just such a little place as this some day. It's great!"

"I'd know in a minute, ma'am, that you had arranged things," said Foster, falling in readily with her husband's enthusiasm.

For an instant Mrs. Challoner shaded her eyes with her hand. The room, she knew only too well, was the very last expression of poverty, yet these two had shown a delicacy and kindness that she had supposed to be far beyond them.

"But where's your manners, Foster?" suddenly demanded Stevens. "Surely you might put your hands to fixing up that supper on the stove! Do now, like a good girl ..."

"Indeed, she must not--and in that lovely gown, too--besides, there is really nothing to do," Miriam Challoner quickly returned, for she could not bear to have Foster see what was cooking there.

"Oh, I'll be very careful, besides, it will seem natural to be doing things for you," persisted her former maid.

"Yes, take a look at the roast baking there in the oven, anyway," said Stevens; and no sooner had his wife turned her steps toward the kitchen, than he quickly leaned over to Mrs. Challoner, and thrusting something in her hand, he said in an undertone:--

"She's treasurer, ma'am, and I have to account for every penny; but this she knows nothing about. It's for you--please take it."

In an instant Mrs. Challoner was on her feet, and putting the money back in his hand, she exclaimed:--

"Why, Stevens, I can't take this! Really, I have money ..."

For a moment Stevens's eyes wandered about the poorly furnished room, betraying his thoughts to the contrary. This was not lost on Mrs. Challoner, who immediately went on to explain:--

"Yes, Stevens, and I earn it, too." And she pointed to the typewriter with a certain pride.

"I beg your pardon, ma'am," said her former butler contritely, returning the money quickly to his pocket. "Only, don't let her know ..."

When Foster came back into the room, they were standing over the typewriter, Mrs. Challoner explaining its mechanism.

"Oh, what a fine thing it is to have an education!" exclaimed the young wife, looking sharply at her husband; but her penetrating glance was too much for Stevens, and turning quickly on his heel, he proceeded to rearrange the chairs.

"Hey, there!" suddenly called out Foster. "Why aren't you more of a gentleman--where's your manners? Run along there, like a good fellow, and put some water in the tea-kettle!" Stevens lost no time in obeying; then drawing close to Mrs. Challoner, Foster whispered:--

"This is for you, ma'am, but don't let Stevens know, for he's as tight as a drum-head."

"But," protested Mrs. Challoner, looking at the other in astonishment.

"Please, I saved it just for you," insisted Foster, with a look of disappointment on her face.

"Really, Foster, I don't need it," declared Mrs. Challoner stoutly but kindly. "I can't take it. Some day, perhaps, I may need money, and then I'll send for you." And then quietly changing the subject: "How fresh you look, Foster! And what a man you've married! There is no need to ask if you are happy, for----"

"Well," said Stevens, approaching them, "we must be going now, for Bernhardt will be waiting for us."

"It was good of you to see us, ma'am," said Foster, putting out her hand, just as she had seen the ladies do in the old days at the big Challoner house on the Avenue.

"So you married for love," said Miriam Challoner, as they started to go.

"Well, _he_ did," conceded Foster.

"_She_ did, ma'am," corrected Stevens; and presently they were sailing down the street like a pair of lovers "walking out" on a Sunday afternoon.

"One hundred dollars a month!" sighed Miriam, reseating herself at the typewriter. "And they were going to give me twenty-five dollars--the faithful dears!"

Once more engrossed in her work, she did not hear the door-bell, which had been ringing persistently. At the end of a page she paused and bent her head low over her work.

"... for love," she mused, half-aloud.

Meanwhile, her caller, determined to be admitted, had stolen softly into the room, though it was not until she stood beside her that she attracted Miriam's attention. For a moment Miriam glared hard at her; she could not believe her own eyes; then, suddenly rising to her feet, she cried half-joyfully, half-regretfully:--

"Why, it's Shirley Bloodgood! Oh, why did you come! You must not stay, you must not see ..."

"Why did you hide from me?" quickly returned Shirley. "I have searched for you for months, and it was only yesterday that I learned from Stevens where you were, who, by the way, had orders not to reveal your whereabouts. You might as well have moved a thousand miles away, as everybody thinks you have."

Miriam sighed weakly.

"It takes money to move a thousand miles away," she protested feebly.

"You are like a needle in a hay stack over here," continued Shirley.

"But why did you come?" Miriam kept on protesting. "Why, Shirley ..."

Shirley stretched forth her arms, saying:--

"And you didn't want to see me!"

"Yes, yes," cried Miriam, suddenly catching Shirley and clinging to her affectionately. "Yes, I have wanted you to come so much, but I hoped you never would see this!" And she spread out her arms as though to exhibit the room.

"What a poor opinion you have of me! Why, Miriam, if I wanted to see handsome apartments, I need not have taken all this trouble to find you. No, indeed, I value your friendship too highly to desert you on account of this."

And now the two women fell to talking about things past and present. After a while, it was Shirley who delicately broached the subject of Laurie.

"And Laurie--how is he?" she asked.

Miriam's eyes kindled for an instant, but its fire soon died out.

"Poor boy," she answered, "he's under such a strain. It's a wonder he doesn't break down. He's so good and kind through it all, too. He's a fine fellow, now," she went on with great enthusiasm.

"Let me see," said Shirley, reminiscently, "his conviction was reversed on appeal, wasn't it?"

"Why, no; don't you remember that it was affirmed--affirmed ..."

"I do remember now. And it was that day or the next one that you ran away from me, you bad girl, and I've never seen you since. Affirmed--affirmed," she mused; and then suddenly leaned forward and inquired eagerly:--

"Then how did he get off?"

Miriam shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't know," she said, "nobody knows; not even Laurie knows that. One day after the affirmance, the jail doors were opened, and he was free--that's all--and he came back to me."

"Surely Murgatroyd knows," said Shirley.

"Oh, yes, of course he knows; but we have never asked any questions. Why should we? I shall never forget Murgatroyd though--I remember him in my prayers. He was honest; he kept his word----"

Shirley smiled a grim smile.

"Murgatroyd, the man with a _price_! Well, I suppose it's just as well that there are people in this world who can be bought now and then."

"I have never forgiven myself," sighed Miriam.

Shirley looked up at her questioningly.

"You? What for, pray?"

"For blurting out in the court-room what I did when the jury found Laurie guilty. Why, it was abominable! it was treachery! I had promised, don't you see?"

"That was clever in Murgatroyd," admitted Shirley. "He would have been a fool to acquit Laurie on that trial. Oh, yes," she added, with a sneer, "he's clever, all right!"

Mrs. Challoner straightened up.

"Fortunately my outbreak did no great harm; nobody believed me."

"Except myself," observed Shirley, "and Murgatroyd!"

"Even Laurie didn't believe me," went on Miriam, "until--well, I don't know whether he's quite sure about it to-day. We never discuss the subject, anyway. It's barely possible," she said, flushing, "that he thinks we spent the money long ago."

There was a pause that was a trifle embarrassing to both women. Miriam was the first to speak.

"Murgatroyd is making a name for himself, isn't he?"

Shirley threw up her hands in indignation.

"Who wouldn't, with that stolen money to back him!" she exclaimed fiercely.

Miriam shook her head.

"He's doing good work with it. He's breaking up the organisation--the inside ring. I'm sure that the effect of his work is felt even over here." And then she added vehemently: "But his best work will be over when he has succeeded in breaking Cradlebaugh's. When he does that----"

"After he downs Cradlebaugh's," interrupted Shirley, "if he ever does, I hope he'll down himself. That's my wish for Billy Murgatroyd!"

"Murgatroyd is honest," protested Miriam.

Shirley smiled a hard smile.

"You mistake his motive, Miriam. He's ambitious--frightfully ambitious. Why even now he's planning to go to the Senate," declared Shirley; but she did not add that it was she who had put the idea into his head. "Think of Billy Murgatroyd's being Senator! He'll ask a billion the next time he's bought, instead of a million!" she wound up, scornfully.

"You forget," quietly but forcibly reminded Miriam, "that I stand up for Murgatroyd."

"Poor Miriam," sighed Shirley to herself, "she always was easily fooled." A moment later, she exclaimed: "A typewriter!"

"I don't wonder at your surprise," said Miriam. "But it is easy work and I like it immensely. I work for different people in the neighbourhood," she went on to explain. "A real estate dealer, one or two lawyers, it's----"

She broke off abruptly, for they were interrupted by a faint whistle.

"It's the speaking tube," said Miriam, tremblingly; but the next instant she was in a little dark alcove calling down the tube.

Meanwhile, Shirley allowed her gaze to wander about the apartment; nothing had escaped her notice, not even the cooking that was going on in the kitchen.

"Somebody whistled up the tube," said Miriam, returning, "but I couldn't get an answer. I can't imagine who it is."

Then suddenly for the third time that afternoon, the outer door opened; but this time it was thrust open with great violence, and James Lawrence Challoner came into the room with the stamp of the gutter upon him.

Shirley was dumbfounded. Quickly her mind went back to that afternoon, long ago it seemed, when he had come home after the tragedy. Then, it is true, he was unkempt, soiled, but now ... and she asked herself whether it were possible that Miriam could not see the man as he really was. The answer was immediately forthcoming, for Miriam went over and caught him in her embrace.

"Poor Laurie, tired, aren't you, dear?" she said fondly; and then turning toward the girl: "Here's an old friend of ours--Shirley Bloodgood!"

"So I see," he growled; and without more ado he turned to Miriam and demanded gruffly:--