Page:Top-Notch Magazine, May 1 1915 (IA tn 1915 05 01).pdf/47

 your trail," answered Ruthven, "and he made threats as to what he would do. I wanted to warn you so you could take measures to protect yourself. The officers will take Morrison to Monte Carlo to-day. They will stop off here with the prisoner, hoping the crook will make some important confession."

Lois grew rigid in her chair. Her father stared at Ruthven keenly for a moment, then tossed his hands in helpless resignation. "What time will they get here?" he asked.

"Late this afternoon."

"At that time, then, my fortunes go to smash; but I shall not be the first man to sacrifice for a principle everything that makes life worth while. The hardest thing for me to bear is the unhappiness all this must bring to Lois." He turned tenderly to his daughter. "Don't you think," he asked, "that you had better leave us while I talk frankly with Mr. Ruthven? In so far as I may, I am going to discount the revelations Morrison intends to make. What I do will not help much, and it will not be pleasant for you to stay and hear all the dreary story gone over again, Lois."

"I shall stay, father," returned the girl firmly.

McKenzie made no further objection. "Mr. Ruthven," said he, folding and unfolding the two papers in his hands, "quite a number of years ago a man whom we will call Briggs lived in a large city in the East. He was a machinist, and accounted a good one; he was married and had one child, a daughter. Hard luck came to, Briggs, but through no fault of his own. Industrial depression swept the country, and he was thrown out of employment. He was dead broke, and there was no work to be had. Pawning what little property he had to keep his wife and daughter from starvation, he made his way to Chicago in the hope of finding better opportunities in the Middle West. In this he was disappointed, and his luck went from bad to worse. Then, one night, in the fifteen-cent lodging house where he made his headquarters, he met Weasel Morrison."

McKenzie paused, his eyes fixed reflectively on space. Presently he roused himself with a start and continued: "Morrison had come to the lodging house looking for a pal whom he wanted to help in 'pulling off a job.' Something about Briggs attracted him, and he tried to get Briggs to lend a hand in the criminal work, promising big returns. Briggs indignantly refused, and threatened to call the police. Morrison left him, then, and went away with a snaky smile—a smile that was confident and full of cunning. Two days later, Briggs got a letter from his wife begging for money and saying that she and the girl were close to starvation."

McKenzie paused for a moment, and then resumed his story: "That night Morrison came again, and renewed his offers. Briggs resisted them, as he had done before. Then another letter arrived from the East, from Briggs' daughter this time, saying that her mother was very ill and that there was nothing with which to pay the doctor or to buy food. Morrison presented himself once more, for he seemed to have a devilish insight into Briggs' affairs and was timely in his suggestions of crime. Briggs was near to yielding, but a sudden horror rose up in him and he spurned Morrison and his fiendish suggestions and fled from him and from temptation. Next day, in a crowd on State Street, a man's pocket was picked."

Again McKenzie paused, striving to keep calm. Then he continued: "As fate would have it, Briggs, in his tattered clothes, was in that crowd, and close to the man who had been robbed. The first thing he knew he was arrested and—most damning evidence of all—the stolen pocketbook was found in his