Joan's Enemies/Chapter 18

TORMONT left the taxi a little later, giving Lottie urgent instructions to look after her father carefully. Then, after a bite of supper, he left for Elm House. He had much to think about on the way. If on that crumpled half-sheet of notepaper his late clerk had told the truth precisely, the damning document—curse Lismore!—was now on its way to Elm House, and would be delivered there between eight-thirty and nine o'clock.

He reached his destination with minutes to spare. In the drizzling darkness he hung about the gates until he descried the special-delivery boy approaching. Then he entered and walked slowly toward the house, allowing the boy to overtake him. They arrived at the door almost abreast.

Presently the housemaid admitted him and received some letters from the boy. She replaced the tray on the table, and stood ready to take the visitor's raincoat and hat. Stormont seemed to hesitate.

“I'm a little before my time,” he said: “Would you mind inquiring whether it suits Miss March to see me at once?”

“Miss March is in the library, sir. I'll ask. Will you step into the drawing-room?”

“Thanks—I know my way.”

The girl went down the hall and disappeared. There were five envelopes on the tray: Three of them, containing odd circulars, had been mailed by Stormont himself. Of the, two remaining, one was directed in Plyden's writing.

When the maid came back, the visitor was standing over the drawing-room fire. Miss March, she intimated, would see him in about ten minutes. And at the end of that interval the maid returned and beckoned to him.

OAN, standing by the writing-table, as if to impress on him that she had granted him the interview on strictly business terms, received him with a slight inclination followed by a gesture in the direction of a chair a little way off. Seating herself, she appeared to wait for him to begin.

Stormont took the chair indicated, saying: “I wish, first of all, to thank you for consenting to receive me to-night.”

“I am ready to hear what you have to say,” she said; “but I would ask you to make it as brief as possible.”

“I'm afraid it is rather a long story,” he returned, “but I will do my best not to tax your patience. I dare say you remember, Miss March, that Lismore and I were with Mr. Cran, in this room, a very short time before the—the end. He had summoned us from the office.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Yet, you have no idea, I think, of his reason for the summons.”

“I may have a theory.”

“Of recent conception?” he said quickly.

“Possibly. But I am here to listen, Mr. Stormont.”

“I ask pardon. Mr. Cran's main object, as far as I have realized it, in summoning us to Elm House was a double one: first, to strike us a blow; second, to confer upon us an enormous benefaction. His method in each case was so extraordinary that, with all respect to his memory, I am still convinced that his mind was failing.”

HE girl gave her head a little shake, but held her peace.

“As you know,” he continued, “Rufus Cran caused his valuable and prosperous business to be wound up there and then. All that meant to Lismore and myself, after twenty years' service, I need not inflict on you. But while with one hand he put ruin before us, with the other he held fortunes before our eyes! He declared that he was the owner of forty thousand ounces of platinum which he had gradually accumulated and hidden away; he also declared that the forty thousand ounces were to be divided among his nephew, Lismore and myself. He had written down instructions for the division and for finding the platinum, and as Lismore and I sat listening to his amazing story, he presented us. each with a portion of the document, informing us that a third portion would go to his nephew, and that when the three portions were put together again, the platinum would be ours. Do I make it clear, Miss March?”

“Perfectly.”

“But it is not all news to you? Well, never mind. I now ask you to consider, for a moment, the position of Lismore and myself. I may tell you that we had, unwisely, foolishly, if you like, contracted large liabilities outside of the business. We were threatened with destruction, extinction, so far as our business interests was concerned. As a lonely man, I dare say I felt it less than Lismore; yet—but that would not interest you. So there was destruction coming swiftly nearer, and there was salvation—our rightful shares in that hoard of platinum—where? Imagine the situation! Of Douglas Grant's whereabouts we were in sublime ignorance, and every hour brought the danger nearer!” Stormont's voice sank in its appeal. “Miss March, was it unpardonable that we two desperate men should make an effort to find salvation without the assistance of the third interested person?”

Joan did not appear to hear him.

E sighed. “I wonder how much you know,” he said at last. “But for the intervention of the lady,—your aunt, I believe-—you would never have known anything, and you would be none the worse. Shall I confess everything?” he asked abruptly.

“Nothing, if you please,” she replied coldly.

“I will ask you to believe one thing: when I asked you to marry me, I was sincere.”

“Will you be good enough to tell me the one thing that is of any consequence to me? I have received you in my house to-night because you assured me that my refusal to do so would mean great distress to a friend. Who is the friend?”

“You are merciless. The friend is Mrs. Lismore.”

“Mrs. Lismore!”

He gave no sign of having noticed her surprise.

“Go on!” she said after a moment. “She, of course, must not be allowed to suffer. What can I do?”

“I'm sorry to mention it to you, but a dreadful thing happened in our office to-day. A clerk shot himself—fatally—in our presence. Lismore, already wrecked by those financial worries, is going to pieces. I left him an hour ago in the care of his daughter and Grant. You would not have known him.”

“Ah!” murmured the girl. Was that why Lottie had wanted Douglas to meet her?

“I'm afraid for Lismore.”

“Of his—dying?” she said, and wondered at her own lack of feeling.

“By his own hand.”

“Oh!” Now she was stirred. Her dislike of the man lifted for the moment and she asked: “Tell me now what I can do—for Mrs. Lismore.”

“Help me to.rouse Lismore.” He met her glance unflinchingly. “Don't you understand? Good news—like medicine.” There was no mistaking his meaning.

“Impossible!”

T this he rose, taking from his pocket a long envelope. Advancing to the table, he laid two strips of paper on the blotting-paper.

“The originals,” she said quietly. “Into no other hands would I trust them.” He paused for a moment and continued: “Miss March, I believe I know exactly where the platinum is hidden. I take it that you have already read the middle portion of the Rufus Cran document: therefore if you will study these for a moment, you will know—everything.”

She barely glanced at the strips. “These ought to be presented to Mr. Grant,” she said. “Of course,” she added, a faint hint of inquiry in her tone, “they are of no value as claims to the platinum without the third.”

“Quite right—just as the third without these is mere paper and ink.”

“You had better take care of them, Mr. Stormont,” she said carelessly. And then: “I suppose what you're after is for me to give you freedom to secure your share of the platinum at once—”

“It will cost Grant nothing.”

“And what about myself, Mr. Stormont?”

“And Mrs. Lismore?”

“Ah, yes. I am a selfish person. But—” A sound she had been longing for had reached her ears at last. “I must ask you to excuse me for a few minutes. I will think over what you have said, but I beg you to consider whether there may not be a better way.”

As the door closed, Stormont picked up the two strips, put them away and returning to his seat, bowed his head in his hands. After a little while he looked at his watch! Still two hours at least before that woman could reach Elm House, were she returning from Atlantic City to-night.

It had, oddly enough, not occurred to so thorough a man as Stormont, that special excursion-trains might go without mention in the time-table.

N the hall Miss Griselda Gosling, much exhausted, fell into the ready arms of her niece. She talked for five minutes, with scarce a breath. “And so,” she finished, “I brought poor Sylvia Lismore with me. She is at home by now.”

“Oh!” cried Joan, anger giving way to distress. “I must tell you!” And she ended with “How I wish I could go to the poor woman!”

“I'll go!” cried Miss Gosling. “I'm not a bit tired. Give me your message, let Kate get me a cup of tea and order a taxi, and I'll just slip out quietly—that is, if you aren't afraid of the man.”

“Afraid!” Joan's blue eyes were splendid then despite her weariness. “But I can't let you—”

“Say no more! I want to see Sylvia Lismore come out on top. I've stirred her up so far, and— Excuse my ringing for Kate. There's no time to lose. Are you going to kick—send him away soon?”

“Not exactly,” said Joan gravely, and let her aunt do the rest of the talking.

OON afterward Joan returned to the library:

Stormont rose like a prisoner bracing himself to hear the verdict.

“Well,” she said, “have you thought of a better way?”

“I am sorry,” he answered gently, “but there seems to be no other way.”

There was a short silence till she asked rather abruptly: “Forty thousand ounces of platinum is a great weight.”

“More than a ton.”

“Really! Then even supposing your share, not to mention Mr. Lismore's, were available, you could not possibly remove it to-night.”

“I could have it removed within an hour of touching it.”

“You have made arrangements for its removal.”

“Provisionally, of course, Miss March.”

She regarded him with something like admiration.

“Did you really imagine I would permit you? Is a woman supposed to have no sense of honor?” she asked sternly.

“Grant would understand and appreciate anything you did for Mrs. Lismore's sake.”

“Would he? Has he so great a regard for her? Oh, Mr. Stormont, why can you not be honest?”

“Honest? I have offered to confess, but you would not hear me. Tell me, is such dishonesty in seeking one's own? I have begged you to read those two strips of paper so that you might learn what my own amounted to—in figures written thereon by Rufus Cran. Read them now!” He held them to her.

There was a strange set look on her face as she moved leisurely toward the hearth.

“See!” she cried, and unrolled a similar strip which she had been holding in her left hand.

“Ah!” he exclaimed, transfixed. “You really have it! So you will read them together, and then—” Triumph was in his voice.

Swiftly she stopped and thrust the strip into the heart of the fire! For an instant he remained as if petrified; then he sprang forward—too late! He grasped but ashes. It was, perhaps, characteristic of the man that his next action should be to flick the sooty fragments from his fingers.

Slowly he straightened up and looked her full in the face. He was paler than she; yet it was she who winced. His gaze was destined to be a memory to Joan March. Neither wrath nor hate lived in his eyes—simply reproach, a passionate, awful reproach.

Involuntarily she retreated a pace.

“Don't alarm yourself,” he said quietly. “It almost looks as if I did really love you—does it not? For otherwise I must have killed you. You have had an unfair advantage all along.”

“Mr. Stormont,” she exclaimed, “why did I burn that paper?”

“My punishment, I suppose.” He smiled faintly.

“For what, precisely?”

Had he but known it, she was offering him a chance to escape the worst thing of all. Had he then confessed to forgery, she would surely have followed in her determination to carry the affair to its bitter end. But though the impulse came to him, he rejected it; the forgery could never be proved.

“After all,” he said, “have you not punished me chiefly for the crime of seeking my own?” He saw her face harden, and added: “At the eleventh hour you tempt me to employ a little force. I know exactly where to look for the platinum; I left a bag of tools in the hall. The police might interfere; on the other hand, they might not.” He moved swiftly to a position between her and the door.

But Joan showed no special alarm. “Listen!” she said. “Before you came, I had made up my mind that the platinum business should be settled to-night. I phoned to Mr. Grant, and he and his friend Mr. Fairthorn will be here almost immediately—at ten-thirty. Mr. Grant will not object to your assistance. In fact, I have his permission for you to begin the search as soon as you like. If you will kindly let me pass, I will show you the way to the laboratory. Come with me, please.”

Neither doubting nor believing, he followed.

The gloomy place was lighted up by oil lamps, and on a bench lay a collection of obviously new tools.

Then Stormont came to himself, but when he would have spoken, she was gone. Before long he was laboring as if for his life.