Part 18

"Garraboy, Edward V.: Sent to military training school; expelled; went up north, boarding-school; expelled; tutored for college and went to Harvard; ran up debts to extent of over a thousand dollars in two months, signing promissory notes. Paid by stepfather, who withdrew him at the request of college authorities; cut off by family and sent to Chicago with four hundred dollars to enter business house. Instead, speculated in wheat market and said to have made a little money. Went to Denver with small capital and posed as son of wealthy parents. Made acquaintance of a family called Sanderson and shortly became engaged to daughter, heiress to considerable fortune. Engagement broken as result of investigations. Left Denver, leaving behind a number of debts and bad checks. Next, heard of in southern California, working in mine; got in shooting affray over daughter of Mexican and went into British Columbia. Used many names. Spent a year in small stock companies playing little roles; made a lucky gamble in silver mine and went to San Francisco, living high. Went to Seattle; became engaged to a widow of large real estate manipulator; persuaded her to invest her money in land exploitation scheme in southern California which proved failure. Ran away from Seattle and went to Hawaii to sell imitation jewelry under name of Edward--"

"Bracken!" exclaimed the two young men in one breath.

"Exactly."

"Married to Maud Lille!" cried Gunther, the first to recover his astonishment. "Why, the little toad! How the deuce did these women fall for him?"

"Oh, that's a question by itself, Mr. Gunther," said McKenna, smiling. "It's a good deal in studying what you're dealing with, and Garraboy watched them pretty close. Let me finish.

"Came to San Francisco, as you know; fled to escape pursuit; changing name, shipped as clerk on a merchantman from New Orleans. Next known of him, returned from the Far East under own name with apparently a certain amount of money. On hearing marriage of his sister, came to New York and established himself in Wall Street, largely through the aid of Bloodgood, over whose head evidently has held some threat. Met Maud Lille and probably came to some understanding with her; has paid her money from time to time. Encouraged sister's infatuation for Majendie, whom sought to enlist in scheme for rice production in South; failed. Made money rapidly until three months ago, when several ventures failed and became involved. Secured personal loan of $10,000 from Majendie without knowledge of sister. Has lived at rate of $40,000 a year, running several establishments; said to have given $15,000 worth of jewelry to Mlle. Clo. D'Aresco, the dancer, on her last visit here. Made immense short sales in recent market and was on verge of failure when panic saved him. Has profited by infatuation of Mrs. Cheever to borrow large sums in last week. On day after theft sold steadily all day; under suspicions by his own clients and on verge of arrest, when drop in stocks turned tide in his favor. Reputed to have covered his losses and made $100,000 in last three days."

"You were on his track then!" exclaimed Beecher, suddenly enlightened.

"I was and I am," said McKenna; "and in less than twenty-four hours I'll shake down that frisky gentleman for about forty-five thousand dollars that he has been speculating with. Four days ago I couldn't have collected forty-five cents. That's why I held off."

"Good Lord!" said Beecher, suddenly remembering. "I say, McKenna, Miss Charters' money is tied up with him. You don't suppose--by Jove, I hope nothing's wrong!"

"You give me the amount," said McKenna with a click of his teeth. "I'll get it. He knows, I guess, by this time what a pretty little story it would make in the morning papers. He won't resist--not he!"

"Look here," said Beecher excitedly, putting his hand to his pocketbook. "By Jove, that's lucky. I've still got that order. I can telephone her now--"

"Telephone nothing," said McKenna, reaching out his hand. "I don't need that order, except as a reference. Just keep it quiet. The young lady won't thank you less for your saving her without her knowledge, will she?"

"No," said Beecher, flurried. "Here's the order. When'll you get at Garraboy?"

"In about ten minutes," said McKenna, reaching over for a fresh cigar.

"Here?"

"Right here."

"And the ring?" asked Gunther quickly.

"What do you think?" said McKenna, his little eyes snapping through the blaze of the match as he lighted his cigar.

"I think it lies between Mrs. Cheever, Miss Lille and Garraboy," said Gunther; "either woman took it and either passed it to Garraboy at the table--"

"Well?" said McKenna, as Gunther hesitated.

"Or Garraboy took it first and passed it to one of them."

"Why?"

"For fear that he or she had been seen taking it the first time--to cover up the tracks. Whoever may have seen the ring taken would believe the original thief had restored it and kept quiet."

"That's ingenious, and I must say it may prove to have some bearing," said McKenna. "It's likewise possible. But you gentlemen have missed the whole point of what I've been reading you."

"In what way?"

"There's not one bit of evidence who took the ring," said McKenna, with a gesture at the recording sheets. "It shows who might have taken it--that's true. Now, what it shows is this--what was working in every one's mind the night of that party. You remember that it was on the night before Majendie's failure, and that the whole question of the panic hung on whether he was going to pull through or not. Now, of every one who was there, with the exception of Miss Charters, Mrs. Bloodgood and Mr. Beecher here, every one was in Wall Street up to their necks, and if they knew what had happened to Majendie they could call the turn. Now, what happened? Bloodgood was getting his information from Maud Lille, who got it from Garraboy, who easy enough could get it from his sister, not out of treachery, but unconsciously, you may be sure. Well, all these three got the straight tip. That's what the meeting next morning was about. Bloodgood never took the ring; that would be ridiculous; and Maud Lille, whatever her record for drifting, is not a crook. So those meetings were on the question of speculation, pure and simple.

"Now, Mrs. Cheever got the news straight and Mr. Cheever didn't, though he depended on his wife working Garraboy. Cheever bought stocks and was caught. That likewise shows there may be some interesting developments in that charming little family, particularly when he finds out that Mrs. Cheever sold and won. Now, what have we to go on? Cheever's a crook--but if he took it, he did it alone.

"Garraboy's a crook and, following Mr. Gunther's theory, he could have taken it alone or working with Mrs. Cheever. If there was any collusion, it was there. Gentlemen, I am only discussing possibilities."

"If the ring was taken to raise money to gamble in Wall Street, then it lies between Cheever and Garraboy," said Gunther.

"Say it this way: if Mrs. Cheever or Miss Lille took it, Garraboy would probably know--"

"And Slade?" said Beecher.

"If Slade took it, we're losing our time. Aren't we?" said McKenna.

"McKenna, do you know?" said Gunther suddenly.

"Unless I am very much mistaken, I'll know in twenty-four hours," said McKenna, "I know this--who has the ring and when he had it, and this evening, about 5:30 in the afternoon, I ought to know from the gentleman in question, who pawned it--unless I learn sooner."

"Unless Garraboy confesses," said Beecher.

"Gentlemen," said McKenna, answering with a nod an assistant who opened the door at this moment, "I'm not given to boasting, but I'll risk this." He went to the desk, wrote a name on a card, sealed it in an envelope and handed it to Beecher. "That's the name of the person who took the ring. Keep it until it is found. That sounds like Sherlock Holmes, but there's one reason why I feel like being a little stagey; and I don't mind admitting to you that I got to it by deduction--honest deduction, though!"

"Why've you Garraboy here, then?" said Beecher, while the letter in his pocket seemed to radiate heat like an ember.

"Do you want to know?--you'll be surprised," said McKenna, going to the desk again. "Well, it's to convince myself that Garraboy had nothing to do with it."

"What!" exclaimed the two.

McKenna made them a signal to be silent and, taking up the loose sheets of the different records, started to place them in the drawer; but all at once he stopped, selected one, the record of the broker himself, and laid it face up on the table. The next moment the door opened and Garraboy came warily into the room.

*CHAPTER XXI*

At the sight of Beecher and Gunther, Garraboy stopped short, evidently nonplused.

"I was told to come in," he said, lifting his eyebrows.

"Quite right," said McKenna briskly, raising his voice a trifle. From the moment of the broker's entrance his eyes fastened on Garraboy, never leaving him. "Come right in."

"I'm interrupting--" said Garraboy carefully, conscious of this set gaze.

"Not in the least."

"I thought our business was confidential, McKenna," he said, without having moved from the position he had taken on entering. "I fail to see--" he stopped and looked again at the two young men.

"Oh, Mr. Beecher and Gunther," said McKenna affably; "suppose we call them attorneys for one of your clients."

"Miss Charters?"

"You're a good guesser, Mr. Garraboy."

The broker drew in his upper lip and, coming slowly forward, said:

"The presence of these gentlemen is exceedingly distasteful to me."

"You're not in a position to object, Mr. Garraboy."

Garraboy turned his back and walked slowly back and forth, evidently in distressed conjecture, occasionally raising his head to shoot a glance at the three, half in rage, half in fear.

All at once he stopped by the desk as though his mind had come to a certain decision, and, bearing heavily on it, said:

"I do not know that I care, under the circumstances, to enter into any discussion. You, Mr. McKenna, represent my client, Mrs. Alva White; your claim against me is for forty-five thousand eight hundred and forty-six dollars." He drew out his pocketbook. "I have here a check made to your order." A second time he plunged his hand into his pocket and brought out a check-book. "I was not notified that Miss Charters' was also under discussion. However, I will settle that at once. To whose order, please?"

McKenna, without answering, indicated himself with a jerk of his finger.

Garraboy, seating himself at the desk, took up a pen and carefully filled in the check, blotted it and handed the two drafts to McKenna, who took them, endorsed them and, ringing, handed them to an assistant:

"Present these at once. Telephone me as soon as they are honored."

Garraboy carefully blotted the check-book in turn, replaced it in his pocket, and was thrusting back his chair from the desk when McKenna, turning on him sharply, said:

"Garraboy, you stole that ring of Mrs. Kildair's."

The broker, startled, jerked up his head.

"So that's the meaning of all this!" he said angrily.

"Answer my question!"

But this time Garraboy, without wincing, rose suddenly to his feet.

"McKenna, I have nothing more to say to you," he said, scowling, "on this or any other question. Your claims are satisfied. I recognize no further right of you to insult me."

"Don't move, Mr. Garraboy," said McKenna softly; "we've a lot of business still to talk over."

"Are you trying to blackmail me?" said Garraboy furiously, folding his arms.

"Garraboy, I've got the goods on you and there may be a paper or two in my pocket you wouldn't care to have served," said McKenna, the pupils of his eyes seeming to dwindle to a point as the whites showed under a well-simulated show of anger. "First place, you're going to sit here until I get a telephone those checks are cashed. Second, and this may surprise you, you're going to stick right by me--today and tonight, until you make up your mind whether you'll answer me or answer a court of justice. Third, before we get through here, I want your name at the bottom of a little document I've drawn up for you."

"What do you mean?" said Garraboy, but with a note of apprehension in his voice.

"A plain, honest recital of what you've been doing with other folks' property these last two months--"

"You said--" fairly screamed the broker.

"I said if you settled my claims I wouldn't prosecute--true, and I won't. But just the same you're getting out of business here in New York, and I'm going to hold a paper that'll keep you out."

"Never!" exclaimed Garraboy in desperation. "Every cent I owe will be settled in twenty-four hours. I'll close up every account--I'll agree to that--but I'll not be blackmailed into this. You haven't a charge against me that'll stand in any court in this country--"

"What about that ring?" said McKenna. "You were trying all over town to raise fifteen thousand dollars that day. Garraboy, you stole that ring, pawned it, and raised the money to hold off your loans."

"That's a lie!" he said, clenching his fists. "I got it--"

"Where?"

"None of your business."

"Where did you get the money to pay your interest and to put up the new margins you did?"

"I was acting for others."

"What others?"

Garraboy opened his mouth to reply and then suddenly stopped.

McKenna said immediately:

"No, you won't say what others, because if you do claim you sold for others, here before witnesses, you know you'll restore a good deal more money than you figured out to disgorge. Oh, you're clever all right. Answer me--did you steal that ring?"

"I did not," said Garraboy suddenly; "and I don't know anything more about it than Beecher here--in fact, considerably less." He looked over with a sneer on his lips and then quickly and firmly exclaimed: "McKenna, my mind's made up. I'm going out that door--now. If you attempt to prevent me, I'll hold Mr. Beecher and Mr. Gunther here as witnesses that you kept me here by force. And I'll have you up on--"

All at once he seemed to choke on a word as his eyes, following the movement of the fist that struck the table, came suddenly in contact with the upturned sheet entitled:

"GARRABOY, EDWARD V."

The sight seemed to paralyze every muscle of his body. He sat down abruptly, drawing the document under his eye.

"Take your time, Bracken, read it over carefully," said McKenna in a soothing voice. He retired to the fireplace and relaxed into the easy chair awaiting the moment.

Garraboy read hastily, fairly galloping through the pages. Then he stiffened in his chair, frowned and read carefully through it all again, considering each phrase.

At the last, the three who watched him saw him push the paper from him, lock his hands in front of him and stare at McKenna. The correct, insolent man of the world had faded; instead, before them, bare to the bone, was the rascal, the desperate, clever adventurer. Suddenly making a quick resolve, he said in a tone that surprised them for its absence of emotion:

"Give me the paper I'm to sign."

McKenna jumped up and going to a shelf took down an affidavit.

"It is always a pleasure to deal with profession," he said genially, placing the document on the table. "Oh, read it first."

Garraboy skimmed through it hastily, nodding. He took up his pen and paused.

"It's understood that the contents will never be made public, directly or indirectly, so long as I keep out of the United States?"

"Understood."

"Your word of honor on it as a gentleman, McKenna?"

"My word."

"And yours, too, Mr. Beecher, Mr. Gunther?"

Each repeated the promise in turn.

Garraboy signed the confession and handed it to McKenna.

"What now?"

"You will, of course, wind up your business immediately."

"I will telephone for my clerk to bring my books here at once for your inspection. I will draw the necessary checks and have them deposited to the credit of my clients this afternoon. One of your men can personally assure himself that everything is right. Will that satisfy you?"

"Couldn't have proposed anything more practical," said McKenna, nodding.

"What next?"

"Clean up that matter of the ring."

Garraboy rose impatiently,

"I haven't got the ring."

"I don't believe you."

"Are you going to keep me under surveillance?"

"I am."

"Until when?"

"Until the ring is returned."

"McKenna," said Garraboy desperately, "I think I've satisfied you. I'm not standing on technicalities. You've got me cold. I know it. Now, I'll tell you just how I stand. When everything is paid up, I stand pretty nearly $200,000 to the good. I'm going to get out--go abroad and stay there, and I want to catch the first boat out. If I had that ring, I'd throw it over, quick. That's straight goods."

"Garraboy, did you steal that ring?" said McKenna again.

"I did not." He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped away the perspiration which stood on his forehead.

"Did you ever see before the detective, John Ryan, whom Mrs. Kildair called in?"

Garraboy hesitated.

"Did you?"

"Yes."

"Employed him?"

"Yes."

"Many times?"

"Several."

"And you recommended him to Mrs. Kildair?"

"Yes."

"So you knew whom she would call in?"

"No, I didn't think of that."

"Garraboy, didn't you take the ring knowing that Ryan would be called in and that he would never make a search of you?"

"I did not."

"Do you know who took it?"

"No."

"That's sufficient," said McKenna, apparently satisfied.

"What are you going to do?" asked Garraboy nervously.

"Keep you on a rope until the ring turns up.

"I want to get away," said Garraboy weakly.

"I know that."

The broker remained quiet a moment, turning a pencil with his moist fingers.

"Will you answer one question?" he said at last.

"What?"

"Does Mrs. Kildair know--are you acting for her?"

"Mrs. Kildair does not know what I'm doing," said McKenna quietly.

Garraboy rose with what seemed a little relief, a movement that McKenna was quick to note.

"Well, I've made up my mind to tell you what I know," he said, after a few nervous steps.

"Good."

"I haven't got the ring," he said carefully.

"Did you take it?"

"I did not take it," said Garraboy, looking steadily in McKenna's eyes.

"But you know?"

"Yes, in a way I know," he said firmly. "A woman took it."

"How do you know?"

Garraboy did not answer immediately. He seemed reluctant to continue, frowning and moving restlessly from foot to foot. Finally he blurted out:

"I don't know who took it first, but this is what happened--the God's truth. When Mrs. Kildair put out the lights and counted sixty-one, I heard the ring on the table." He hesitated a moment and said hurriedly: "I made up my mind to give them all a shock. I did not intend to keep the ring; I swear it. I put out my hand to take it--and I touched another hand--the hand of a woman."

"Who took it?"

"Yes."

"Was that woman Mrs. Cheever, or Miss Lille?" said McKenna quickly.

"I don't know."

"You don't know."

"No."

"You have no idea?"

"No."

"No suspicion?"

"No."

"You were told nothing afterward?"

"Nothing."

"Garraboy, it's just possible you're not lying," said McKenna with a frown; "though I'm not sure by a long shot. However, I'll know the truth before the sun goes down."

"How?" said Garraboy, looking up.

"I neglected to tell you," said McKenna, watching him, "that I know whom the ring was pawned with, and this evening the gentleman himself will tell me who pawned it. The time I keep you depends a good deal on what he says."

"Then, this evening I will be free," said Garraboy joyfully, with such evident confidence that both young men were struck by it and McKenna, a little disturbed in his theory, continued staring at the face of Garraboy, which was illumined with a slight, malicious smile.

*CHAPTER XXII*

Half an hour later Gunther and Beecher, leaving McKenna's office with a promise to return that evening, went up town. In Beecher's pocket was a check on McKenna representing the amount of Miss Charters' account. Garraboy remained in the custody of the detective.

"Well, what do you think of it?" said Gunther.

"I think Garraboy lied," said Beecher.

"Oh, about the reason he tried to take the ring--yes, naturally. He could make a plausible reason for that--you'd hardly expect him to say in so many words that he was a thief, if he really didn't get the ring, as he says."

"I think he cooked up the lie right there," said Beecher obstinately. "I don't believe a word of it."

"I don't know--I sort of think he told the truth."

"Do you think any woman would have the nerve to go on after she had felt a hand on hers and knew that some one had a clue, not absolutely definite but almost so?"

"But, Ted, if any one denounced her, wouldn't he have to acknowledge the fact of his own motive? That would be enough to shut any one up."

"I think Garraboy lied," persisted Beecher. "I think he had a part in the theft and at least I am sure he knows all about it."

"Listen to reason," said Gunther warmly. "If Garraboy signed a confession like McKenna handed him, he wouldn't stop at returning a ring--particularly when he knows that McKenna will keep hold of him till the affair is closed up. No, no; Garraboy says he's cleared $200,000--you may be sure he's got considerably more. He's satisfied. He wants to get away from here quick. McKenna's not the only one on his track, you may be sure of that. No, it doesn't stand to reason he'd balk at a little matter like the ring."

Beecher was silent, digesting the argument.

"There may be one explanation," he said at length. "You noticed that the fellow was particularly anxious to know if Mrs. Kildair was behind us?"

"Yes, I noticed all that."

"Now McKenna thinks, and I do too, that Mrs. Kildair all along has known who took the ring and has only been held up before this from prosecuting on account of a possible scandal."

"But, that's over now--nothing can be said--it was an engagement ring, of course."

"Exactly; and that's the reason why I'm going to make this guess--that Garraboy, knowing the game was up, returned the ring this morning."

"By George!"

"And that's the reason he told the lie he did--knowing that everything will blow over in twenty-four hours."

"Ted, by the Lord Harry, I believe you've hit it!" said Gunther excitedly. "I say--"

"What?"

"Let's go up to your rooms--there may be a letter from Mrs. Kildair."

Full of eagerness they went to Beecher's rooms--only to return empty-handed and disappointed. Then they hurried to the club and searched the letter-boxes without success.

Disappointed and impatient they went in to a late lunch.

"What are you going to do about that check of Miss Charters'?" said Gunther in an aggressive tone.

"Take it round to her," said Beecher, looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

"Mail it."

"Why?"

"Gratitude and a pretty woman are a dangerous combination," said Gunther gruffly; "especially for something soft like you."

"You damned, impertinent cuss," said Beecher acridly.

"Fact. Better let me call a messenger boy and send it around."

But in the pleased state of mind in which he was, Beecher had not the slightest intention of surrendering the delightful opportunity which the visit promised. Likewise, he was indignant at hearing from Gunther the same implications which amused him from the lips of a fascinating woman like Emma Fornez.

"You've got a fine idea of me," he answered hotly.

"I have."

"According to you, I oughtn't to be allowed to roam the streets without a keeper."

"Exactly expressed."