CHAPTER V
ANTHONY PULLS UP STAKES
WHEN those two great Australians, Norman Brooks and Anthony Wilding, hadplayed their brilliant tennis in America, Trent had been a closefollower of their play. He had interviewed them for his paper. In thosedays he himself was a respectable performer at the game. Brooks hadgiven him one of his own rackets which was no longer in first classcondition. It was especially made for the Australian by a firm inMelbourne. So pleased was Trent with it that he, later, sent toAustralia for two more. It happened that the manager of the sportinggoods store in Melbourne was a young American who believed in theefficacy of "follow up" letters. It was a large and prosperous firm andit followed up Anthony Trent with thoroughness. He received squareenvelopes addressed by hand by every third Australian mail.
Mrs. Sauer's boarders, being of that kind which interests itself inothers' affairs and discusses them, were intrigued at these frequentmissives from the Antipodes.
Finally Trent invented an Uncle Samuel who had, so he affirmed, left hisnative land when an adventurous child of nine and made a great fortuneamong the Calgoorlie gold fields. Possessing a nimble wit he related tohis fellow boarders amazing accounts of his uncle's activities. Theboarders often discussed this uncle, his strange dislike of women, thebeard which fell to his knees, the team of racing kangaroos which drewhis buggy, and so forth.
At the breakfast table on the morning when Anthony Trent faced his worldno longer an honest man, it was observed that he was disinclined totalk. As a matter of fact he wanted a reasonable excuse for leaving theSauer establishment. The woman had been kind and considerate to him andhe had few grievances.
The mail brought him an enticing letter from Melbourne offering him allthat the tennis player needs, at special prices.
"I trust your uncle is well," Mrs. Clarke observed.
It was in that moment Trent got his inspiration.
"I'm afraid he is very ill," he said sadly, "at his age--he must bealmost ninety----"
"Only eighty-four," Mrs. Clarke reminded him. She remembered the year ofhis emigration.
"Eighty-four is a great age to attain," he declared, "and he has livednot wisely but well. I feel I should go out and see if there's anythingI can do."
"You are going to leave us?" gasped Mrs. Sauer. His going would depriveher of a most satisfactory lodger.
"I'm afraid my duty is plain," he returned gravely.
Thus he left Mrs. Sauer's establishment. Years later he wondered whetherif he had enjoyed better cooking he would have fallen from grace, and ifhe could not with justice blame a New England boiled dinner for hislapse.
For a few days he stayed at a quiet hotel. He wanted a small apartmenton Central Park. There were reasons for this. First, he must live alonein a house where no officious elevator boys observed his going and hiscoming. Central Park West offered many such houses. And if it shouldhappen that he ever had to flee from the pursuit of those who guardedthe mansions that faced him on the park's eastern side, there was nosafer way home than across the silent grass. He was one of those NewYorkers who know their Central Park. There had been a season when afriend gave him the use of a saddle horse and there was no bridle paththat he did not know.
He was fortunate in finding rooms at the top of a fine old brownstonehouse in the eighties. There were four large rooms all overlooking thePark. That he was compelled to climb five flights of stairs was noobjection in his eyes. A little door to the left of his own entrancegave admission to a ladder leading to the roof. None of the othertenants, so the agent informed him, ever used it. Anthony Trent wasrelieved to hear it.
"I sleep badly," he said, "possibly because I read a great deal and amanxious to try open air sleeping. If I might have the right to use theroof for that I should be very willing to pay extra."
"Glad to have you there," said the agent heartily, "you'll be a sort ofnight watchman for the property." He laughed at his jest. "Insomnia isplain hell, ain't it? I used to suffer that way. I walk a great deal nowand that cures me. Do you take drugs?"
"I'm afraid of them," Anthony Trent declared. "I walk a good deal atnight when the streets are quiet."
The agent reported to his office that Trent was a studious man who sleptbadly and wanted to sleep on the roof; also that he took long tramps atnight. A good tenant, in fine. Thus he spread abroad the report whichTrent desired.
The selection of a housekeeper was of extreme importance. She must be anelderly, quiet body without callers or city relatives. Her referencesmust be examined thoroughly. He interviewed a score of women before hefound what he wanted. She was a Mrs. Phoebe Kinney from Agawam, avillage overlooking Buzzard's Bay. A widow, childless and friendless,she had occupied similar positions in Massachusetts but this would bethe first one in New York. He observed in his talk with her that sheconceived the metropolis to be the world center of wickedness. Sheassured her future employer that she kept herself to herself because shecould never be certain that the man or woman who addressed a friendlyremark to her might not be a criminal.
"Keep that attitude and we two shall agree splendidly," he said. "I havefew friends and no callers. I am of a studious disposition and cannotbear interruptions. If you had friends in New York I should not hireyou. I sometimes keep irregular hours but I shall expect to find youthere all the time. You can have two weeks in the summer if you wantthem."
Next day Mrs. Kinney was inducted to her new home. It was a happy choicefor she cooked well and had the New England passion for cleanliness.Trent noticed with pleasure that she was even suspicious of thetradespeople who sent their wares up the dumb waiter. And shediscouraged their gossip who sold meat and bread to her. The many papershe took were searched for their crimes by Mrs. Kinney. Discovery of suchrecords affirmed her in her belief of the city's depravity.
In his examination of her former positions Trent discovered that she hadbeen housekeeper to the Clent Bulstrodes. He knew they were a fine, oldBoston family of Back Bay, with a mansion on Beacon street. When hequestioned her about it she told him it was as housekeeper of theirsummer home on Buzzards' Bay. Young Graham Bulstrode had been a tennisplayer of note years before. Many a time Anthony Trent had seen him atLongwood. He had dropped out because he drank too much to keep fit. Thetwo were of an age. Mrs. Kinney related the history of the Bulstrodefamily at length and concluded by remarking that when she first saw heremployer at the agency she was reminded of Mr. Graham. "But he looksterrible now," she added, "they say he drinks brandy before breakfast!"
The next day the society columns of the _Herald_ informed him that theClent Bulstrodes had bought a New York residence in East 73d street,just off the Avenue. This information was of peculiar interest to Trent.Now he was definitely engaged in a precarious profession he wasdetermined to make a success of it. He had smoked innumerable pipes intabulating those accidents which brought most criminals to sentence. Hebelieved in the majority of cases they had not the address to get awaywith plausible excuses. It was an ancient and frayed excuse, that ofpretending to be sent to read the water or electric meter. And besides,it was not Trent's intention to take to disguises of this sort.
He was now engaged in working out the solution of his second adventure.He was to make an attempt upon the house of William Drummond, banker,who lived in 93rd street and in the same number as did the ClentBulstrodes, twenty blocks to the south. He had learned a great dealabout Drummond from Clarke, his one-time city editor. Clarke rememberedmost of the interesting things about the big men of his day. He toldTrent that Drummond invariably carried a great deal of money on hisperson. He expatiated on the Drummond history. This William Drummond hadbegun life on an Iowa farm. He had gradually saved a little money andthen lent it at extravagant interest. Later he specialized on mortgages,foreclosing directly he knew his client unable to meet his notes. Histype was a familiar one and had founded many fortunes. Clarke paintedhim as a singularly detestable creature.
"But why," demanded Anthony Trent, "does a man like that risk his moneyif he's so
keen on conserving it? One would think he wouldn't take outmore than his car fare for fearing either of being robbed or borrowedfrom."
"As for robbing," Clarke returned, "he's a great husky beast althoughhe's nearly sixty. And as to being borrowed from, that's why he takes itout. He belongs to a lot of clubs--not the Knickerbocker type--but thesort of clubs where rich young fellows go to play poker. They know oldDrummond can lend 'em the ready cash without any formalities any timethey wish it. Ever sit in a poker game, son, and get a hunch that ifyou were able to buy just one more pile of chips you'd clean up?"
"I have," said the other smiling, "but my hunch has generally beenwrong."
"Most hunches are," Clarke commented. "Theirs are, too, but that oldscoundrel makes thousands out of just such hunches. He puts it up to theborrower that it's between club members and so forth, not a moneylending transaction. Tells 'em he doesn't lend money as a rule, and soforth and so on. I know he was asked to resign from one club for it.He's a bloodsucker and if I had an automobile I'd watch for him to crossthe street and then run him down."
"Has he ever stung you?" Trent asked.
"Me? Not on your life. He specializes in rich men's sons. He wouldn'tlend you or me a nickel if we were starving. You remember young HodgsonGrant who committed suicide last year. They said it was the heat thatgot him. It was William Drummond."
"Why does he keep up a house on such a street as he does? I should thinkhe'd live cheaper."
"A young second wife. Threw the old one away, so to speak, and got ahigh stepper that makes him speed up. She thinks she will get intosociety. Not a chance, son, not a chance. I know."
It was on some of William Drummond's money that Anthony Trent had sethis heart. It salved what was still a conscience to know that he wastaking back profits unlawfully made, bleeding a blood sucker.
Owing to the second Mrs. Drummond's desire to storm society shecultivated publicity. There were pictures of herself and her prizewinning Red Chows in dog papers. In other magazines she was seendriving her two high stepping hackneys, Lord Ping and Lady Pong, at theMineola Horse Show. Also, there was an article on her home in a magazinedevoted to interior decoration. A careful study of it answered everyquestion concerning its lay-out that the most careful cracksman neededto know. Trent spent a week in learning how Drummond occupied his time.The banker invariably left his most profitable club at midnight, neverearlier. By half past twelve he was in his library smoking one of thecigars that had been given him that night. Then a drink of gin andwater. Afterwards, bed. The house was protected by the Sherlock systemof burglar alarm, a tiresome invention to those who were ignorant of it.Anthony Trent regarded it as an enemy and had mastered it successfullyfor there were tricks of lock opening not hard to one as mechanicallyable as he and many a criminal had talked to him openly when he hadcovered police headquarters years before.
Drummond drank very little. When asked he invariably took a cigar. Hewas possessed of great strength and still patronized the club gymnasium.For two hours one night Drummond sat near him at a certain famousathletic club. On that night there were certain changes to be observedin the appearance of Anthony Trent. He seemed to have put on twentypounds in weight and ten years in age. The art of make-up which had beenforced upon him in college theatricals had recently engaged hisattention. It was an art of which he had thought little until for hispaper he had once interviewed Beerbohm Tree and had seen the amazingchanges skilful make-up may create.
Ordinarily he slipped in and out silently, not encouraging Mrs. Kinneyto talk. On this particular night he asked her a question concerning amissing letter and she came out into the lighted hall.
"You gave me quite a shock," she said. "You look as like Mr. GrahamBulstrode as one pea is like another, although I've never seen him infull evening dress."
She was plainly impressed by her employer's magnificence although shefeared this unusual flush on his ordinarily pale face meant that he hadbeen having more to drink than was good for him.
It was the tribute for which Trent had waited. If Mrs. Kinney had neverseen the son of her former master in the garb of fashion, her presentemployer had, and that within the week. And he had observed himcarefully. He had seen that Bulstrode was wearing during the nights oflate Autumn an Inverness cape of light-weight black cloth, lined withwhite silk. To Trent it seemed rather stagey but that did not preventhim from ordering its duplicate from Bulstrode's tailor. Bulstrode clungto the opera hat rather than to the silk hat which has almost supersededit. To-night Trent wore an opera hat.
Bulstrode came into the athletic club at half past eleven. He wasslightly under the influence of liquor and his face no redder than thatof Trent who waited across the street in the shadow of the Park wall. Nosooner had Bulstrode been whirled off in a taxi than Anthony Trent wentinto the club. To the attendants it seemed that he had returned forsomething forgotten. With his Inverness still on and his hat folded helost himself in the crowded rooms and found at last William Drummond.The banker nodded cordially. It was evident to the impostor that thebanker wished to ingratiate himself with the new member. The Bulstrodeshad enormous wealth and a name that was recognized. To his greetingAnthony Trent returned a solemn owl-like stare. "Shylock!" he hiccoughedinsolently.
Drummond flushed but said nothing. Indeed he looked about him to see ifthe insult had been overheard by any other member. Inwardly Trentchuckled. He had now no fear of being discovered. Bulstrode probablyknew few men at the club. He had not been in town as a resident for amonth yet. He sank into a chair and read an evening paper watching inreality the man Drummond.