The Red Seal [25]
prove to be the theft of Colonel McIntyre's valuable securities. Threatened with exposure as a thief and forger, Jimmie had committed suicide, so would run the verdict; the fact of his suicide was proof of his guilt of the crime Colonel McIntyre virtually charged him with, and vice versa.
What had been discovered to point to murder? The finding of a handkerchief, saturated with amyl nitrite, which had not belonged to the dead man. Proof - bah! it was ridiculous! What more likely than that Jimmie, while in the McIntyre house before his arrest as a burglar, had picked up one of Barbara's handkerchiefs, stuffed it inside his pocket, and when threatened with exposure on being held for the grand jury, had, in desperation, crushed the amyl nitrite capsules in Barbara's handkerchief and killed himself.
Kent drew a long, long sigh. His faith in Jimmie's honesty was shaken at last by the accumulative evidence, and he was convinced that he had found the solution to the problem, but how impart it to the weeping girl? To prove her lover a thief, forger, and suicide was indeed a task he shrank from.
A ring at the telephone caused Kent to move hastily to the instrument; when he hung up the receiver Helen was adjusting her veil before a mirror over the mantel.
"Colonel McIntyre is in the next room," he said, keeping his voice lowered.
"My father!" Helen's eyes were hard and dry. "Does he know that I am here?"
"I don't know; Sylvester simply said he had called to see me and is waiting in the outer office." Observing her indecision, Kent opened the door leading directly into the corridor. "You can leave this way without encountering Colonel McIntyre."
Helen hurried through the door and paused in the corridor to whisper feverishly in Kent's ear, "Promise me you will remain faithful to Barbara whatever develops."
"I will!" Kent's pledge rang out clearly, and Helen with a lighter heart turned to walk away when a telegraph boy appeared around the corner of the corridor and thrust a yellow envelope at Kent, who stood half inside his office watching Helen.
"Sign here," the boy said, indicating the line on the receipt slip, and getting it back, departed.
Motioning to Helen to wait, Kent tore open the telegram. It was from Cleveland and dated the night before. The message ran: Called to Cleveland. Address City Club. Rochester.
Without comment Kent held out the telegram so that Helen could read it.
"What!" she exclaimed. "Philip in Cleveland last night. I - I - don't understand." And looking at her Kent was astounded at the flash of terror which shone for an instant in her eyes. Before he had time to question her she bolted around the corridor.
Kent remained staring ahead for an instant then returned thoughtfully to his office, and within a second Sylvester received a telephone message to show Colonel McIntyre into Kent's office. Not only Colonel McIntyre followed the clerk into the room but Benjamin Clymer. "Any further developments, Kent?" inquired the banker. "No, we can't sit down; just dropped in to see you a minute."
"There is nothing new," Kent had made instant decision; such information regarding the death of Turnbull as he had gleaned from Ferguson, and the events of the night before should be confided to Clymer alone, and not in the presence of Colonel McIntyre.
"Did you search Turnbull's apartment last night as you spoke of doing?" asked McIntyre.
"I did, and found no trace of your securities, Colonel."
McIntyre lifted his eyebrows as he smiled sarcastically. "Can I see Rochester?" he asked.
"He is in Cleveland; I don't know just when he will be back."
"Indeed? Too bad you haven't the benefit of his advice," remarked McIntyre insolently. "At Clymer's request, Kent, I have allowed you until Saturday night to find the securities and either clear Turnbull's name or admit his guilt; there remain two days and a half before I take the affair in my own hands and make it public."
"I hope to establish Turnbull's innocence before that time," retorted Kent coolly.
What had been discovered to point to murder? The finding of a handkerchief, saturated with amyl nitrite, which had not belonged to the dead man. Proof - bah! it was ridiculous! What more likely than that Jimmie, while in the McIntyre house before his arrest as a burglar, had picked up one of Barbara's handkerchiefs, stuffed it inside his pocket, and when threatened with exposure on being held for the grand jury, had, in desperation, crushed the amyl nitrite capsules in Barbara's handkerchief and killed himself.
Kent drew a long, long sigh. His faith in Jimmie's honesty was shaken at last by the accumulative evidence, and he was convinced that he had found the solution to the problem, but how impart it to the weeping girl? To prove her lover a thief, forger, and suicide was indeed a task he shrank from.
A ring at the telephone caused Kent to move hastily to the instrument; when he hung up the receiver Helen was adjusting her veil before a mirror over the mantel.
"Colonel McIntyre is in the next room," he said, keeping his voice lowered.
"My father!" Helen's eyes were hard and dry. "Does he know that I am here?"
"I don't know; Sylvester simply said he had called to see me and is waiting in the outer office." Observing her indecision, Kent opened the door leading directly into the corridor. "You can leave this way without encountering Colonel McIntyre."
Helen hurried through the door and paused in the corridor to whisper feverishly in Kent's ear, "Promise me you will remain faithful to Barbara whatever develops."
"I will!" Kent's pledge rang out clearly, and Helen with a lighter heart turned to walk away when a telegraph boy appeared around the corner of the corridor and thrust a yellow envelope at Kent, who stood half inside his office watching Helen.
"Sign here," the boy said, indicating the line on the receipt slip, and getting it back, departed.
Motioning to Helen to wait, Kent tore open the telegram. It was from Cleveland and dated the night before. The message ran: Called to Cleveland. Address City Club. Rochester.
Without comment Kent held out the telegram so that Helen could read it.
"What!" she exclaimed. "Philip in Cleveland last night. I - I - don't understand." And looking at her Kent was astounded at the flash of terror which shone for an instant in her eyes. Before he had time to question her she bolted around the corridor.
Kent remained staring ahead for an instant then returned thoughtfully to his office, and within a second Sylvester received a telephone message to show Colonel McIntyre into Kent's office. Not only Colonel McIntyre followed the clerk into the room but Benjamin Clymer. "Any further developments, Kent?" inquired the banker. "No, we can't sit down; just dropped in to see you a minute."
"There is nothing new," Kent had made instant decision; such information regarding the death of Turnbull as he had gleaned from Ferguson, and the events of the night before should be confided to Clymer alone, and not in the presence of Colonel McIntyre.
"Did you search Turnbull's apartment last night as you spoke of doing?" asked McIntyre.
"I did, and found no trace of your securities, Colonel."
McIntyre lifted his eyebrows as he smiled sarcastically. "Can I see Rochester?" he asked.
"He is in Cleveland; I don't know just when he will be back."
"Indeed? Too bad you haven't the benefit of his advice," remarked McIntyre insolently. "At Clymer's request, Kent, I have allowed you until Saturday night to find the securities and either clear Turnbull's name or admit his guilt; there remain two days and a half before I take the affair in my own hands and make it public."
"I hope to establish Turnbull's innocence before that time," retorted Kent coolly.