The Red Seal [61]
I can wait any longer," she began, and paused, as Benjamin Clymer appeared in the doorway.
"So sorry to be late," he exclaimed, shaking her hand warmly. "And I am sorry, also, to have called you here on such an errand."
Mrs. Brewster waited until the young secretary had withdrawn out of earshot before replying; then taking the chair Clymer placed for her near his own, she opened her gold mesh bag and took out a canceled check and laid it on the desk in front of the bank president.
"Your bank honored this check?" she asked Yes."
"Who presented it?"
Clymer pressed the buzzer and his secretary came at once.
"Ask Mr. McDonald to step here," and as the man vanished on his errand, he addressed Mrs. Brewster. "How is Colonel McIntyre this morning?"
Mrs. Brewster's eyes opened at the question. "Quite well," she replied, and prompted by her curiosity added: "What made you think him ill?"
"I stopped at Dr. Stone's office on the way down town, and his boy told me the doctor had been sent for by Colonel McIntyre," Clymer explained. "I hope neither of the twins is ill."
"No. Colonel McIntyre sent for Dr. Stone to attend Grimes -"
"The butler! Too bad he is ill; Grimes is an institution in the McIntyre household." Clymer spoke with sincere regret, and Mrs. Brewster eyed him approvingly; she liked good-looking men of his stamp. "Come in, McDonald," as the bank teller appeared. "You know Mrs. Brewster?"
"Mr. McDonald was one of my first acquaintances in Washington," and Mrs. Brewster smiled as she held out her hand.
"About this check, McDonald," Clymer handed it to the teller as he spoke. "Who presented it?"
"Miss McIntyre."
"Which Miss McIntyre?" Mrs. Brewster put the question with swift intentness.
"I can't tell one twin from the other," confessed McDonald. "But, as you see, the check is made payable to Barbara McIntyre."
"The inference being that Barbara McIntyre presented the check for payment," commented Clymer, and McDonald bowed. "It would seem, therefore, that Barbara wrote your signature on the check, Mrs. Brewster."
"No." The widow had whitened under her rouge, but her eyes did not falter in their direct gaze. "The signature is genuine. I drew the check."
The two men exchanged glances. The bank president was the first to break the short silence. "In that case there is nothing more to be said," he remarked, and picking up the check handed it to Mrs. Brewster. Without a glance at it, she folded the paper and placed it inside her gold mesh bag.
"I must not take up any more of your time," she said. "I thank you - both."
"Mrs. Brewster." Clymer spoke impulsively. "I'd like to shake hands with you."
Coloring warmly, the widow slipped her small hand inside his, and with a friendly bow to McDonald, she walked through the bank, keeping up with Clymer's long strides as best she could. As they crossed the sidewalk to the waiting limousine they ran almost into the arms of Harry Kent, whose rapid gait did not suit the congested condition of the "Wall Street" of Washington. "I tried to reach you on the telephone this morning," exclaimed Mrs. Brewster, after greeting him.
"So my clerk informed me when I saw him a few minutes ago." Kent helped her inside the limousine. "Won't you come to my office now?"
"But that will be taking you from Mr. Clymer," remonstrated Mrs. Brewster. "Weren't you on the way to the bank?"
"I was," admitted Kent. "But I can see Mr. Clymer later in the day."
"And I'll be less occupied then," added Clymer. " Go with Mrs. Brewster, Kent; good morning, madam," and with a courtly bow Clymer withdrew.
Kent's office was only around the corner, and as Mrs. Brewster kept up a running fire of impersonal gossip, Kent had no opportunity to satisfy his curiosity regarding her reasons for wanting to interview him. As the limousine drew up at the curb in front of his office, a man darting down the steps of the building, caught sight of Kent and hurried to the car window.
"I was just trying to catch you at the bank, Mr. Kent,"
"So sorry to be late," he exclaimed, shaking her hand warmly. "And I am sorry, also, to have called you here on such an errand."
Mrs. Brewster waited until the young secretary had withdrawn out of earshot before replying; then taking the chair Clymer placed for her near his own, she opened her gold mesh bag and took out a canceled check and laid it on the desk in front of the bank president.
"Your bank honored this check?" she asked Yes."
"Who presented it?"
Clymer pressed the buzzer and his secretary came at once.
"Ask Mr. McDonald to step here," and as the man vanished on his errand, he addressed Mrs. Brewster. "How is Colonel McIntyre this morning?"
Mrs. Brewster's eyes opened at the question. "Quite well," she replied, and prompted by her curiosity added: "What made you think him ill?"
"I stopped at Dr. Stone's office on the way down town, and his boy told me the doctor had been sent for by Colonel McIntyre," Clymer explained. "I hope neither of the twins is ill."
"No. Colonel McIntyre sent for Dr. Stone to attend Grimes -"
"The butler! Too bad he is ill; Grimes is an institution in the McIntyre household." Clymer spoke with sincere regret, and Mrs. Brewster eyed him approvingly; she liked good-looking men of his stamp. "Come in, McDonald," as the bank teller appeared. "You know Mrs. Brewster?"
"Mr. McDonald was one of my first acquaintances in Washington," and Mrs. Brewster smiled as she held out her hand.
"About this check, McDonald," Clymer handed it to the teller as he spoke. "Who presented it?"
"Miss McIntyre."
"Which Miss McIntyre?" Mrs. Brewster put the question with swift intentness.
"I can't tell one twin from the other," confessed McDonald. "But, as you see, the check is made payable to Barbara McIntyre."
"The inference being that Barbara McIntyre presented the check for payment," commented Clymer, and McDonald bowed. "It would seem, therefore, that Barbara wrote your signature on the check, Mrs. Brewster."
"No." The widow had whitened under her rouge, but her eyes did not falter in their direct gaze. "The signature is genuine. I drew the check."
The two men exchanged glances. The bank president was the first to break the short silence. "In that case there is nothing more to be said," he remarked, and picking up the check handed it to Mrs. Brewster. Without a glance at it, she folded the paper and placed it inside her gold mesh bag.
"I must not take up any more of your time," she said. "I thank you - both."
"Mrs. Brewster." Clymer spoke impulsively. "I'd like to shake hands with you."
Coloring warmly, the widow slipped her small hand inside his, and with a friendly bow to McDonald, she walked through the bank, keeping up with Clymer's long strides as best she could. As they crossed the sidewalk to the waiting limousine they ran almost into the arms of Harry Kent, whose rapid gait did not suit the congested condition of the "Wall Street" of Washington. "I tried to reach you on the telephone this morning," exclaimed Mrs. Brewster, after greeting him.
"So my clerk informed me when I saw him a few minutes ago." Kent helped her inside the limousine. "Won't you come to my office now?"
"But that will be taking you from Mr. Clymer," remonstrated Mrs. Brewster. "Weren't you on the way to the bank?"
"I was," admitted Kent. "But I can see Mr. Clymer later in the day."
"And I'll be less occupied then," added Clymer. " Go with Mrs. Brewster, Kent; good morning, madam," and with a courtly bow Clymer withdrew.
Kent's office was only around the corner, and as Mrs. Brewster kept up a running fire of impersonal gossip, Kent had no opportunity to satisfy his curiosity regarding her reasons for wanting to interview him. As the limousine drew up at the curb in front of his office, a man darting down the steps of the building, caught sight of Kent and hurried to the car window.
"I was just trying to catch you at the bank, Mr. Kent,"