Part 7

"Yes, misery for you," she finished. "Can the girl who must have money make a poor man happy, much as she may love him? Can the butterfly make a bookworm happy, much as she may love him? A woman with social ambitions loves a man with none; can she make him happy? No! And while I am none of these, yet, somehow, I've got to fulfil my destiny; and I'm not going to chafe, anger and everlastingly offend the man who doesn't belong--doesn't fit in with my ideas!"

"But I do fit in, as you phrase it," Murgatroyd maintained. "Haven't I ambition? And am I not a fighter?--You'd think so if you knew the devil of a fight I am having right now with my own organisation--with Cradlebaugh's; and I'm going to win!"

Shirley smiled faintly at his almost boyish earnestness, but she shook her head.

"You are too much of a reformer, too much of a crank--no, I'm sorry to tell you so, but in my inmost soul I believe you will fail. You're built that way! I don't know why, but men of influence have weighed you in the balance and found you wanting. William Murgatroyd, politically you're dead--that's what they tell me. There's no future for you; you have ruthlessly antagonised every valuable interest needlessly. That's not success!"

Murgatroyd's face paled; his hand trembled as he raised it in protest.

"But the people--the people believe in me?"

Shirley smiled again in spite of herself.

"You haven't an ounce of diplomacy in your whole body!"

"Not if you call obeying orders from Peter Broderick, diplomacy."

Still the girl was merciless.

"You hit from the shoulder wildly; it lands on and hurts your opponent, but it kills you. You're only honest, Billy, nothing else."

Murgatroyd swung about nervously and glanced out of the window as he cried:--

"Only honest! Doesn't that count with you--doesn't it signify?"

"It's easy enough to be honest, but it is great to make your honesty save and not destroy you. To get these men behind you instead of opposed to you; to make your organisation do what you want it to do; to rise upon its shoulders because you make it lift you up--Ah!..."

"But, Shirley," interposed Murgatroyd, "can't you see that the man who stands up for a principle cannot fail?"

"What have you done so far?" she kept on persistently. "You're prosecutor of the pleas, your first, last and only office. Am I right?"

"I'm afraid you are," he answered dully. "In a way what you say is the truth. Politically I shall die--" Murgatroyd shuddered as he spoke--"unless I can force this issue to a finish while my office lasts."

"And then?" Her manner in putting the question nettled him.

"Well, then I suppose I shall live and die poor. But at least I shall die honest," he added.

Shirley shifted her mode of attack.

"Look at Mr. Thorne!"

"Ah, it _is_ Thorne, then."

"A while ago I told you it was not Mr. Thorne." She paused a moment and then, as if speaking to herself, said: "But some day I shall meet the man I'm looking for--some day----"

"When you do, Shirley Bloodgood," he was quick to remind her, "it's an even chance that he won't care for you."

Shirley lost no time in retorting:--

"It's a chance I'm going to take! I can love," she went on wistfully, "yes," and then blushing, added very tenderly: "I am laying my soul bare to you, William Murgatroyd, because I believe somehow that you have a right to see it. Again I repeat: Look at Mr. Thorne!--a prospective United States senator!"

"You admire him?"

"He succeeds."

"Do you know why it may be possible for him to get the nomination for senator? Have you any idea, young woman, what it costs in this State to be chosen senator?"

"Does it cost anything?" was her naive rejoinder.

"Just about three-quarters of a million to swing the thing! Thorne has money and backing and----"

"And you have neither," she finished for him.

"Precisely."

"Why not emulate Mr. Thorne and get both? To be a United States senator is one of the few great real successes possible of achievement in this country."

"His methods are not mine," pleaded the prosecutor, falling back upon his platform.

"Exactly. He secures support; you, opposition."

"Would you have me adopt his methods?"

"I would have you secure his results," she declared firmly.

There was a hungry look in the man's eyes as he spoke:--

"And if I do?..."

"Oh, if you only would!" her young voice rang out clearly, hopefully.

"And I'll find you waiting for me?"

"At the top of the hill, Billy!" She held out her hand. "Think over what I've said--Good-bye!"

IX

After seeing Miss Bloodgood to her carriage Murgatroyd's thoughts were in a maze of bewildering complexity. As a matter of fact, his peace of mind was wholly gone; and it was with a far different feeling than any he had heretofore experienced that he sought his down-town club for luncheon. It chanced to be at a time when stocks were buoyant, and in consequence the atmosphere of the dining-room was charged with cheerfulness. But Murgatroyd was in no mood to join any of the various groups lunching together; on the contrary, he took particular pains to seat himself at a small table apart from the others, where he gave himself up at once to a mental rehearsal of the scene in his office a half hour ago.

Success at any cost! Yes, that was the way she had put it. Well, and why not? Was not that the modern idea--the spirit of the age? And should he hold a mere slip of a girl responsible for putting into words what every woman thinks? Ridiculous!... And the United States Senate was her conception of greatness! Ah, that was for Thorne! The organisation, the brewers, the railroads, would send him there--buy him the job! Yes, her friend Thorne would be a success, achieve greatness; while he, William Murgatroyd, would be likely at the expiration of his present term of office to find himself dead politically, become a cipher professionally as well.

Presently the waiter brought his luncheon. None of the dishes suited him; the servant was taken to task; the head-waiter was summoned; the dishes were changed, and still they did not taste right. Finally muttering to himself comments derogatory to the club's cuisine, Murgatroyd pushed away his plate, lit a cigar and hastened out of the building.

Lost in an abyss of depression he sank wearily into the seat at his desk. It was thus that McGrath found him when he entered to announce that he had brought down Pemmican.

Murgatroyd stared at him dully.

"Pemmican?" he repeated. "Who the deuce is Pemmican?"

"Thunderation!" burst from the lips of McGrath. "Why, your star witness in the Challoner case!"

This brought Murgatroyd to earth.

"Well, don't bring him in," he said impatiently; "I'll ring when I want you."

McGrath was dumbfounded. In fact, his astonishment at his superior's evident disinclination to proceed immediately with the examination of Pemmican was such that it came very near to making him forget that there was another reason for his presence there.

"Another lady to see you, counsellor," said McGrath half-apologetically. "It's Mrs. Challoner this time."

Murgatroyd looked up quickly.

"Mrs. Challoner! Why didn't you say so before? Show her in at once!" And as that person came through the door Murgatroyd rose and went forward to meet her, saying:--

"How do you do, Mrs. Challoner? If you had let me know that you wished to see me, I should have been glad to call on you. What can I do for you?"

For a moment Mrs. Challoner did not answer, but looked suspiciously about to see whether any one else was present.

"Mr. Murgatroyd, I do not wish it to be known that I have come here," she began, as she dropped into a chair. She looked haggard, pale and worn. Her manner, the tone of her voice, at once indicated to the prosecutor that she was labouring under some suppressed excitement. It was a situation not at all to his liking, and he watched her narrowly while she proceeded:--

"I have come to see what can be done for my husband."

"Miss Bloodgood was here a short time ago on the same errand," he observed, to put her at ease.

"Miss Bloodgood!" Amazement leaped into the young wife's tired, brown eyes. "She did not tell me she was coming--but that's just like her--she never tells half the good things she does. She's a friend--indeed, Shirley's a good friend."

There was an embarrassing pause in which both were silent. Apparently she was nerving herself to go on. Presently courage came, and she said:--

"Will you tell me, please, what my husband's chances are?"

"Every man is supposed to be innocent until he is proven guilty.... But first as last, I may as well inform you, Mrs. Challoner, that I can do nothing, absolutely nothing for you. Your husband must stand trial!"

"Yes, yes, I know. But you don't quite understand. The man was not himself. Surely you must know that! Let him live, Mr. Murgatroyd; he's worth saving. Give him time--a chance. He'll be good--I shall make him good. I have tried, and I shall continue to try all the harder...."

Murgatroyd sat motionless. His profile was toward Mrs. Challoner. It was a clean-cut profile, and upon its contour there was no sign of yielding. After a while he looked up and said:--

"I am very sorry for you, Mrs. Challoner, and I dislike intensely to hurt your feelings. But do you realise that your husband ... shot this man in a quarrel over----"

Mrs. Challoner quickly cut him short.

"That woman! What do I care for that! You don't know what my husband is to me! I love him no matter what he has done. Besides, it was all my fault. Let me tell you how it was. Laurie wanted money--his money was gone--he had spent it all, and----"

Murgatroyd held up his hand.

"I cannot let you speak this way. You are simply supplying me with evidence against him."

"And I refused him," continued the woman, too excited to hear what the prosecutor was saying. "I hardened my heart against him--drove him from home, and then--this dreadful thing happened."

"It would be dastardly in me to listen further. You are making your husband's guilt more evident with every word. When Hargraves was found he had been robbed of ten thousand dollars!" And with that Murgatroyd rose as if to indicate that the interview was at an end. "There is nothing I can do, Madam," he declared flatly; and then added: "There never was but one way to cure a man like Challoner; it's too late now."

Minutes passed.... Murgatroyd watched her intently; but she did not move: she sat rigid as if preparing herself for some ordeal yet to come. All of a sudden her attitude changed. Mistrustfully she peered about her once more, then leaning far over toward Murgatroyd, she whispered:--

"We are alone?"

The lawyer regarded her with pardonable curiosity before he answered:--

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

Mrs. Challoner wrung her hands; she seemed uncertain how to proceed. In the end she said:--

"I am going to do a terrible thing. It frightens me almost to death. I don't know how to begin, but my love for Laurie is my excuse for what I have to say. I hope you won't misunderstand me. Supposing Shirley was in Laurie's place--if she were accused of crime, what wouldn't you do for her?"

"The cases are hardly parallel," he answered indifferently.

"They are precisely parallel," she maintained. "You love Shirley as I love Laurie--I know you do. Don't say no--women have a way of knowing those things." Her eyes sought his for confirmation. "Am I not right?"

"I would do anything to win her," he spoke up quickly; evidently she took the rest for granted, for she continued to persevere:--

"I know that you have great ambitions; and with such a girl at your side there is no reason why you should not become a great man."

This sudden interest on her part in matters concerning his future, for the moment rattled him. Nevertheless, he was conscious of a decided sensation of relief that the conversation had taken its present course; and her words: "With such a girl at your side" found a welcome in his heart. On her part, Mrs. Challoner was becoming more and more composed. And now in a voice that seemed to him ringing with conviction, she went on:--

"You will have up-hill work, I know. Your party is against you and all that sort of thing; but if only for Shirley's sake, I want you--you must succeed!"

For some reason which he did not attempt to explain Murgatroyd found himself actually confessing to this woman that he thought he deserved to win out.

"It's only money that you lack, I know," she ventured now. "With money they couldn't keep you down. With money of your own--" she stopped abruptly; the tension was getting too much for her. Presently she cried out: "Oh, Mr. Murgatroyd, don't you see what I mean, and won't you help me?"

But he failed to understand her meaning, and was obliged to ask her to explain herself. He was staring hard at her now.

And then at last it came out.

"Only this, Mr. Murgatroyd," she said, meeting his gaze. "I will give you one hundred thousand dollars to set my husband free!"

Murgatroyd instantly sprang to his feet.

"You mean to bribe me!"

Miriam Challoner cowered before him. She had not put the matter to him in quite the way she had intended. She was desperately afraid that she had destroyed all hope of success by blurting it out like this. "Please don't be hard on me--condemn me," she begged as one before the judgment seat. "I know it's awful!"

For a full half minute Murgatroyd fastened his gaze on her face. Then he walked to the door, stepped inside the vault and satisfied himself that there was no one there, looked into every corner of the room and underneath the table; and when at last he was convinced that he had taken every precaution, he came back and stood directly in front of the woman and told her to repeat what she had said.

In fear and trembling she reiterated her words:--

"I will give you one hundred thousand dollars to set my husband free!"

"Mrs. Challoner," the prosecutor asked, falling into his habit of putting finger-tip to finger-tip, "how much money have you?"

"In all?"

Murgatroyd nodded.

"In just a minute...."

With a hard look on his face Murgatroyd watched her pull a little book from a bag, watched her take out the stub of a pencil, waited while she busied herself in adding figures, waited until at the end of a short calculation she looked up at him and made known the result.

"In all, I have about eight hundred and sixty thousand dollars left."

"What?" exclaimed the prosecutor, unable to conceal his astonishment. For since he had begun his investigations it had come to him that Mrs. Challoner's affairs were in a bad way. A moment later he said: "And that eight hundred thousand dollars or so is----"

"All in negotiable securities," she promptly assured him, "payable to bearer. I get six and seven per cent. on some of them--the old ones."

"Where are these securities?"

"In the Fidelity Safe Deposit vaults."

"In addition to these," went on Murgatroyd, "you have your house on the Avenue?"

"Yes. There's a small equity in it."

He raised his eyebrows.

"It is subject to mortgage, then?"

"Of course," she answered glibly. "I get six per cent. on most of my securities, and have to pay only four and a half on my mortgage. It would have been foolish to pay it off."

Murgatroyd smiled a cold smile.

"You're quite a business woman, Mrs. Challoner."

"I have to be," she acknowledged with a smile that was intensely pathetic.

"And that's all you have?" he asked a moment later.

"Absolutely."

"Your house," mused Murgatroyd, half to himself, "will take care of Thorne's fee."

"How much will that be?"

Murgatroyd jerked his head nervously.

"Thorne?--Oh, he'll take all he can get!" There was a short silence which Murgatroyd suddenly broke. "Mrs. Challoner, your attempt to bribe is no longer an attempt. You have succeeded. I shall set your husband free!"

Mrs. Challoner smiled while the tears trickled down her cheeks.

"I shall get you the hundred thousand dollars right away," she said, as if it were a mere bagatelle.

"Just one moment, please," continued Murgatroyd, waving her back into her seat, for she had risen. "I shall set your husband free for _eight hundred and sixty thousand dollars_!"

Miriam Challoner leaned back in her chair. She seemed to hesitate.

"For everything I have!" she muttered half aloud.

Murgatroyd reached over and touched her on the arm, and repeated in the same tone:--

"Everything you have!" And added: "Surely you did not think that I would sell myself for less?"

"No, no, of course not," she faltered. "I wish I had millions to give you. You are a good man--you are doing a good act."

Murgatroyd shook his head and said somewhat impatiently:--

"Mrs. Challoner, this is a business transaction; let us close it. You can get those securities to-day, I suppose?"

"Yes," she replied in the next breath, the flush of joy still on her face.

"Then do so, please." His voice was hoarse now. "And bring them to me here wrapped up in brown paper. You understand that nobody must know about this. You know what it would mean to me, to you, to Challoner ..."

"Yes, yes," she cried eagerly, and held out her hand. "It's an agreement."

But Murgatroyd purposely ignored her hand and abruptly turned away, saying:--

"This matter must be closed at once."

And with a confident "I'll be back in half an hour," Mrs. Challoner passed out of the door, which Murgatroyd had softly and noiselessly unlocked.

* * * * *

The man who presently was brought out of the barred ante-room and taken before the prosecutor might have been anything from a floor-walker of a big department store to a manager of a renowned rathskeller. It was evident from the manner in which he bore himself while under the constant surveillance of the minions of the law, that he was perfectly at home in the presence of strangers, and that unusual situations did not feaze him. In the matter of general adornment of the person, however, Pemmican of the low brow was an exception to his class: no diamond blazed from his shirt-front or fingers; moreover, he was dressed in the most sombre of blacks, and under his soft felt hat of the same colour the hair was brushed forward with scrupulous care. The long, thin, smooth-shaven face, the little, deep-set eyes, the abnormally low brow, which was accentuated by this odd arrangement of his hair, the pasty complexion, all gave one the impression of dignified sleekness. In other words, one could easily have pictured the man as performing in a most impressive manner the last offices needed by man here below. To sum up, the attitude of the man now waiting for the prosecutor to address him--Pemmican of the low brow always knew his place--produced the effect of distressed meekness.

"Pemmican," said Murgatroyd, all geniality and good-fellowship now, "how are they treating you?" And then, with a chuckle: "You look peaked, my man!"

It was second nature to Pemmican to swallow his indignation and simulate cheerfulness, but he answered peevishly:--

"No wonder I'm all to the bad. But why am I kept locked up in this house of detention?"

McGrath grinned and spoke for the prosecutor.

"Witnesses is wary game and scarce; it ain't always the open season, so we got to keep 'em in cold storage, see?"

Pemmican ignored this remark, but turned to the prosecutor, and there was a whine in the voice that said:--

"You made my bail so infernally large that my friends would not put it up for me."

"I did it purposely," Murgatroyd declared, still smiling. "This is an important case; you are the only witness; and I've got to keep you where your friends cannot reach you--" here a faint flush spread over the prosecutor's countenance--"cannot corrupt you, Pemmican."

Suddenly Murgatroyd rose from his revolving chair. He nodded a dismissal to McGrath; and then going over to a table in the centre of the room, he drew to him a sheet of foolscap from a pile lying there, and said:--

"Come over here, Pemmican!" There was an article of some kind in the hand that rested on the table. "Just sketch me here--on this paper--a little plan showing the position of the men in Room A that night."

"Sure," volunteered Pemmican, taking the proffered pencil; "now, here was Colonel Hargraves, here was----"

He stopped abruptly. For he had seen that the article in Murgatroyd's hand was a wallet marked "R. H."

"Go on!" said Murgatroyd.

"And here was--" Pemmican stopped again.

"What are you looking at?" Murgatroyd asked. "Oh, that?" he said casually, and passed the wallet to Pemmican.

Pemmican started and backed away.

"I don't want it. It ain't mine. I don't know what it is--what is it, anyhow?" he gulped. "No, counsellor," he added; "and besides, I wasn't looking at it."

Murgatroyd patted the wallet.

"It was Colonel Hargraves's pocketbook," he said. "I thought you recognised it."

"Never saw it before, counsellor," he repeated sulkily; "never saw it before."

"You must have seen it," persisted Murgatroyd; "it's pretty well worn, and he must have carried it a long time. He was one of your patrons. The fact is, Pemmican," he went on, "this wallet was the occasion of my sending for you just now. I am informed that when Hargraves last carried it the wallet was full of bills; and when he was found in the street it was quite empty. It is a mere detail, but I should like to know whether Challoner robbed this man as well as killed him."

Pemmican slowly shook his head.

"Can't help you out," he answered, "for I never saw the wallet. I don't know...."

Murgatroyd went off on another tack.

"Very well, then; but there's another thing that you may clear up.... By the way, Pemmican, perhaps you don't know that Challoner has confessed?"

Pemmican's physiognomy lost its doleful appearance. And he cried joyfully:--

"Confessed? Gee, that's good--great! Confessed? Well, say, counsellor, it just had to come to that!"

"Yes," conceded Murgatroyd; "but there's another thing which bothers me, though I don't know that it complicates matters exactly. It's a mere detail again. Challoner says he shot his man in Room A in Cradlebaugh's; you say the quarrel took place there, that Hargraves went out first, and that Challoner followed him. Hargraves, as we know, was found dead in the street above. That's right--isn't it?"

"Sure," returned Pemmican, positively. "I didn't see him fire the shot; nobody saw that. It's a good thing, though, because between you and me, Prosecutor, notwithstanding my testimony I thought that you'd have some trouble in making out a case. Circumstances is something, but they ain't everything, you know."

Murgatroyd agreed to this, and added:--

"We've got certainty now, because he's confessed--but he's mixed as to the place of the shooting. He thinks it was in your place--that you were present, that's all."

Murgatroyd seemed satisfied. He sat down at his desk and from a drawer he drew a box of cigars. Now he leaned toward Pemmican and said confidentially:--

"Pemmican, I want your testimony in this case--I want it _right_. Have a cigar?"

Pemmican accepted, and finding a ready match in his pocket, struck it on the heel of his boot and lighted the cigar before the slow-moving Murgatroyd could pass him his matchbox.

"Thank you, counsellor, I have one," he said, and blew a cloud of smoke to the ceiling. "You can depend on me; I'll tell the truth--the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me--" His gaze returned again to the pigskin wallet on the desk. "But say, I never saw that thing before."

Murgatroyd picked it up and spoke in a still lower tone now.

"Pemmican, suppose I were to fill this with, well, say ten thousand dollars and give it to you; how would you testify in this case, eh?"

"But," protested Pemmican, "I never saw ten thousand dollars in it--No...."

"No," repeated Murgatroyd; "but if you should right now have it filled with ten thousand dollars, how would you testify for me?"

Pemmican stolidly shook his head and answered:

"To the truth, counsellor--I'm an honest man."