CHAPTER II
IN WHICH A MYSTERIOUS ARM IS OUTSTRETCHED
It was not because this reflection was in any way cooling to his lovethat Herrick did not see again, for some days, the lady of his heart. Hewas, perhaps, not very self-assured. Yet when his story of the murderand the inquest appeared he became a marked man. He awoke to findhimself famous, and to be summoned to another interview at the Inghampublishing house.
There seemed to be no thought of allowing the prestige of "Ingham's" toperish with its brilliant junior partner. Ingham, senior, who for yearshad been only nominally its head, intended to resume active work oncemore, at least until the younger son should have finished college andgone into training for his brother's place. Perhaps the real pillar ofthe house was Corey; and Corey remained, to sustain both father and son.And they had all three agreed not to forsake the new, the yet unbornenterprise of _Ingham's Weekly_. "Mr. James Ingham was wrapped up init," Corey told Herrick, whom he had met with the kindest compliments,"and his father can't bear that all his work should be wasted now.Besides, in the whole of the business, it's the thing that mostinterests young Mr. Stanley, and it seems to me the place where the boymay be most of use. We want the _Weekly_ to be a real force, Mr.Herrick, and in its first number we shall want to give up the usualeditorial pages to a memoir of its founder and his ideals for it. Mr.Herrick, if we could induce you to undertake that memoir we should thinkourselves extremely fortunate."
Herrick could not believe his ears; it seemed such a strange sequel to akind of police report, however able, for the Sunday papers. There beganto be something uncanny to him about his connection with Ingham's deathand how it continued to seem his Open Sesame to fortune. But he was gladenough and grateful enough. He ventured to send Christina a note tellingher that her new friend was now being pursued by good not evil fortuneand her reply came in the same mail with a letter from his sister towhom he had written for details about Nancy Cornish.
Marion remembered only that Nancy's parents had been killed in a runawaywhen she was about fourteen and that Nancy had gone out Westsomewhere,--to Portland, Oregon, Marion thought, to live with anuncle--and had gradually ceased to write. Of this uncle's name oraddress both Marion and the principal of the school which both girls hadattended were amiably ignorant.
"There's only one thing I'm positive about; she was the best little soulalive. Never in this world did she go to that man's rooms to tell talesof her friend. She never told tales. She was a natural bornhero-worshiper; the most loyal child I ever saw and the most generous,the bravest, the lovingest, the most devoted. If she went to Mr. Ingham,it wasn't to injure that Christina Hope; it was to help her out of somescrape. She was just the kind of girl to be taken in by a woman likethat, whom I must say sounds--"
Herrick dropped this letter to return to that other which it cannot bedenied he had read first. It was directed in a penmanship new to him butrecognized at once in every nerve, and he had drawn forth Christina'snote with that strange thrill which stirs in us at the first sight ofthe handwriting of the beloved. She thanked him, with a certain shyness,for his news. It was so good one must take it with their breath held!And now she had a favor to ask. Stanley Ingham had gone home toSpringfield for the week-end, but he had just telephoned her that hewould be back in town on Tuesday morning, by the train which got in tothe Grand Central at eleven thirty-five. He had some news for her butshe would be at rehearsal; she should not see him until the evening, andshe was naturally an impatient person. Would not Mr. Herrick humor aspoiled girl, meet the train and bring her the news at about noon to acertain little tea-room of which she gave him the address. "You may findit a great bore. They are supposed to let us out for an hour, like theshop-girls. But, alas! they don't do it so regularly. They may push usstraight through till mid-afternoon. But I know you will have patiencewith my eagerness to hear any news where it need not trouble my mother.She has had anxiety enough." It may be taken as a measure of Herrick'sinfatuation that he saw nothing in this letter which was not angelic.
The Grand Central Station, however, is no sylvan spot and Herrickwondered how he should recognize an unknown Stanley Ingham among thehordes swarming in its vast marble labyrinth. But that gentleman provedto be a lively youth of about twenty, who plucked Herrick from the crowdwithout hesitation and led him to a secluded seat with that air ofdeferential protection which a really smart chap owes it to himself toshow to age. His collar was so high that it was remarkable howpowerfully he had established winking terms with the world over the topof it, but he stooped to account for himself at once as an emissary ofChristina's.
"She wired me to see you here, and here I am. You know I'm the bearer ofsome new exhibits for the police. We think we've struck a new trail.After I've handed 'em over I'm dining with Miss Hope, and as she'd haveheard all about 'em then, should think she might have waited. Still, youknow how women are!
"In the first place," young Mr. Ingham continued, "we want you, we wanteverybody, to know we're Miss Hope's friends. We want to go on recordthat the way she's been knocked around in this thing has been simplydamnable, and, if poor old Jim were alive--"
He stopped. At the mention of his brother a moisture, which Herrick knewhe considered the last word of shame, rose in his eyes; behind his highcollar something swelled and impeded his utterance. Then Mr. StanleyIngham became once more a man of the world.
"You can take it from me that if you hadn't treated her as jolly well asyou did in that capital article of yours, we shouldn't be trying tolasso you now onto the staff of the _Weekly_." Herrick started, but theman of the world was not easily checked. "You were awfully decent, youknow, to all of us, and Corey was all the more pleased becausethat--that last day, old Jim was down at the office till threeo'clock--the first day after he was home, too,--working like a dog, andyet when he found that letter of Rennett's introducing you he was aspleased as Punch, and when he made the appointment with you for nextday, he said to Corey, 'People are taking that boy pretty easy yetawhile, but he's the best short-story writer on this side of theAtlantic; and if he's really got a novel about him, the old house willshow him it's still awake.'" The man of the world repeated these phraseswith an innocent satisfaction in having them at first hand, andHerrick's own heart went questing into the future.
Then his attention returned to the words of his young friend. "We don'tthink we've done enough for her, and we want to do all we can do."
"Miss Hope?"
"Of course. You see, we don't any of us feel she was wrong in quarrelingwith Jim--except the mater, who thinks she ought to have let him cut herthroat for breakfast every morning and damned glad to get him--and,considering everything, we think she let him down pretty easy at theinquest. There's no denying the dear old fellow had been a gay one inhis time, and, of course, he drove a high-spirited girl like thatfrantic with a lot of antiquated notions about the stage. You see, hewas pretty close to thirty-five, and when a man gets along about therehe's apt to lose touch with what's going on. Well, having her in our pewand our carriage at the funeral didn't shut all the fools' mouths in NewYork nor Springfield either! So now we're going to do something reallyswotting--we've taken a box for her first night, and we're going to getmother into it, mourning and all, if we have to bring her in a bag. It'sour duty. Read that."
"My dear and kind Mr. Ingham (ran Christina's letter): You must try and be patient with me, and not think hardly of me, when I tell you that I can not profit by the terms of Jim's will. He made those provisions for the girl who was to be his wife, and not for me who never could be.
"As I write this I feel your good heart harden to me, with the sense that I never loved him. But oh, believe me!--time was when I loved him better than earth or heaven. We couldn't agree, he and I. Let it remain my consolation that between us there was never any question of expedient nor compromise.
"If she can bear it, give my love to his mother.
"My heart is full of fondest gratitude to all
that family which I should have been so proud to enter. And do you keep a little kindness for your unhappy,
"CHRISTINA HOPE."
"What do you think of that? Won't take a cent! You can easily see,"commented the wise one, "that they'd have made it up all right. Splendidgirl! Best thing the poor old chap ever did was trying to get her intothe family. I don't suppose you're as hipped about her good looks as Iam? Takes a special kind of eye, I fancy! I snaked this particularly toshow you--but we want everybody to know she's turned down the coin. Andwe're going to have the beast that fired that shot if he's alive on thisplanet. 'Tisn't only on Jim's account! It's for her--it's the only wayyou can knock that damned lie on the head about her being up there inhis rooms that night.--Chris! Why, she's a regular kid! And thestraightest kid that ever lived! We mean to keep the police hot at it.And look here what I'm turning in to them!"
It was a typewritten envelope, postmarked "New York City" and addressedto Mr. James Ingham.
"We found it, opened, in his desk at the office," the boy explained."But we've only just got it away from my mother." Its contents were apiece of red ribbon and a single sheet of paper, closely typed.
The Arm of Justice warns Mr. James Ingham--
("Is this a joke?") "Go on! Read it!"
--warns Mr. James Ingham that it demands ten thousand dollars. ("By George!") If Mr. Ingham wisely decides to grant this application, he will tie the enclosed ribbon to the frame work of his awning on the afternoon of August fourth, at four o'clock. It will be seen by an agent of the Society, who will then advise Mr. Ingham as to how and where the money may be paid. If Mr. Ingham decides against the application, he will do nothing.
But in that case he must be prepared for the publication of a paragraph in the _Voice of Justice_, beginning--"There has recently come to light an episode in the career of Mr. James Ingham, the well-known publisher, eldest son of Robert Ingham of Springfield and New York, who is engaged to be married to the popular actress, Christina Hope--"
It will go on to relate the story of his association with a young, pure and helpless girl eight years ago; how he betrayed her, and, after a promise of marriage--she being then destitute--abandoned her. It will tell this girl's name and where she is. It will give all names in connection with the affair. It will publish letters that passed between Mr. Ingham and this young girl, corroborating the worst that has been said.
Mr. Ingham knows the standards of society, the reputation, the probity and the justice of his father, and also the temper of Miss Christina Hope. Mr. Ingham is the best judge of whether or not it will be wise to pay for silence.
"That's all!" exclaimed Stanley Ingham, as if the absence of signaturewere really remarkable. "Well, how's that! Poor old chap, you know--howdare they!" He reddened. "Because, hang it all, of course a man has tobe a man, and you've got to be liberal-minded and all that; but, justthe same, a fellow that would do what that thing says--why, he'd beregularly rotten! You can't deny it, he'd be rotten."
Herrick sat dumb. Words of Christina's were passing in his mind.--"Iwill never tell you the cause of our quarrel. It was simply somethingmonstrous which happened a long time ago." Because he had to saysomething, he said--"And you're taking this in to the police?"
"Yes. Isn't it a mercy Jim didn't destroy it? Meant it for thedetectives himself, I dare say. Perhaps his not hanging out that pieceof ribbon didn't have anything to do with his death. And perhaps it did.Anyhow, wait a bit--I'm a walking post-office this morning. Here's thelast exhibit!" And he plumped down on Herrick's knee the duplicate ofthe typewritten envelope. The postmark, however, was dated August ninth,and it was directed to Ingham senior.
"It opened with the same formalities, but this time its threat ran--
"The _Voice_ will relate the actual circumstances connected with the death of Mr. James Ingham--"
"Jove!" cried Herrick, "that would be something!"
"Wait till you read 'em!"
"It will not pause after the story of the young girl whom Inghamabandoned years ago. It will tell how, on the eve of his departure forEurope, just such a story was reenacted, but this time with a closefriend of his intended bride, an actress named Ann Cornish; who, on hisreturn, appealed to him for the only reparation in his power; evenslandering her friend Christina Hope in the attempt to win him back.Failing in this, she fled, and disappeared--perhaps destroyed herself.It will tell how Miss Hope suspected the intrigue, having quarreledabout it with her lover the day before, when he denied all knowledge ofNancy Cornish; how, suspecting an appointment for the evening instead ofthe afternoon of August fourth, Miss Hope disguised herself in a red wigand dabs of paint about her eyes and penetrated to Ingham's apartment;how, finding no one there, she was placated until she spied NancyCornish's card on the piano and how then a terrible quarrel arose; theexcitable young woman, springing in front of the window with her armoutstretched, the fingers slowly spreading and stiffening in the air,uttered a terrible, low cry, and snatching up Ingham's revolver from thetable at the head of the couch, shot him dead. It will follow the flightof Miss Hope exactly as she described it at the inquest--out throughthe door which Ingham must have bolted behind her. She ran upstairs andescaped over the roof into the apartment house next door. It was aterribly hot night, and, against all rules, the roof-doors of bothapartment houses had been fastened back. Miss Hope came quietlydownstairs, passed through an entrance hall, empty of the boy who hadrun to join the crowd in the street, and walked away. This will be theconclusion of the narrative."