The Gloved Hand Read online

  CHAPTER IV

  ENTER FREDDIE SWAIN

  I fell, rather than climbed, down the ladder, snatched the whitemissile from the grass, and saw that it was, indeed, a sealed andaddressed envelope. I had somehow expected that address to includeeither Godfrey's name or mine; but it did neither. The envelope borethese words:

  Mr. Frederic Swain, 1010 Fifth Avenue, New York City.

  If not at this address, please try the Calumet Club.

  I sat down on the lowest rung of the ladder, whistling softly tomyself. For Freddie Swain's address was no longer 1010 Fifth Avenue,nor was he to be found in the luxurious rooms of the Calumet Club. Infact, it was nearly a year since he had entered either place. For someeight hours of every week-day, he laboured in the law offices of Royce& Lester; he slept in a little room on the top floor of the Marathon;three hours of every evening, Saturdays, Sundays and holidaysexcepted, were spent at the law school of the University of New York;and the remaining hours of the twenty-four in haunts much lessconspicuous and expensive than the Calumet Club.

  For Freddie Swain had taken one of these toboggan slides down the hillof fortune which sometimes happen to the most deserving. His father,old General Orlando Swain, had, all his life, put up a pompous frontand was supposed to have inherited a fortune from somewhere; but, whenhe died, this edifice was found to be all facade and no foundation,and Freddie inherited nothing but debts. He had been expensivelyeducated for a career as an Ornament of Society, but he found thatcareer cut short, for Society suddenly ceased to find him ornamental.I suppose there were too many marriageable daughters about!

  I am bound to say that he took the blow well. Instead of attempting tocling to the skirts of Society as a vendor of champagne or anorganiser of fetes champetres, he--to use his own words--decided tocut the whole show.

  Our firm had been named as the administrators of the Swain estate, andwhen the storm was over and we were sitting among the ruins, Freddieexpressed the intention of going to work.

  "What will you do?" Mr. Royce inquired. "Ever had any training inmaking money?"

  "No, only in spending it," retorted Freddie, easily. "But I canlearn. I was thinking of studying law. That's a good trade, isn't it?"

  "Splendid!" assented Mr. Royce, warmly. "And there are always so manyopenings. You see, nobody studies law--lawyers are as scarce as hen'steeth."

  "Just the same, I think I'll have a try at it," said Freddie,sturdily. "There's always room at the top, you know," he added, with agrin. "I can go to the night-school at the University, and I ought tobe able to earn enough to live on, as a clerk or something. I know howto read and write."

  "That will help, of course," agreed Mr. Royce. "But I'm afraid that,right at first, anyway, you can scarcely hope to live in the style towhich you have been accustomed."

  Freddie turned on him with fire in his eyes.

  "Look here," he said, "suppose you give me a job. I'll do my work andearn my wages--try me and see."

  There was something in his face that touched me, and I glanced at Mr.Royce. I saw that his gruffness was merely a mantle to cloak his realfeelings; and the result was that Freddie Swain was set to work as acopying-clerk at a salary of fifteen dollars a week. He appliedhimself to his work with an energy that surprised me, and I learnedthat he was taking the night-course at the University, as he hadplanned. Finally, one night, I met him as I was turning in to my roomsat the Marathon, and found that he had rented a cubby-hole on the topfloor of the building. After that, I saw him occasionally, and whensix months had passed, was forced to acknowledge that he wasthoroughly in earnest. I happened to remark to Mr. Royce one day thatSwain seemed to be making good.

  "Yes," my partner agreed; "I didn't think he had it in him. He had arude awakening from his dream of affluence, and it seems to have donehim good."

  But, somehow, I had fancied that it was from more than a dream ofaffluence he had been awakened; and now, as I sat staring at thisletter, I began to understand dimly what the other dream had been.

  The first thing was to get the letter into his hands, for I wascertain that it was a cry for help. I glanced at my watch and saw thatit was nearly half past twelve. Swain, I knew, would be at lunch, andwas not due at the office until one o'clock. Slipping the letter intomy pocket, I turned back to the house, and found Mrs. Hargis standingon the front porch.

  "I declare, I thought you was lost, Mr. Lester," she said. "I wasjust going to send William to look for you. Ain't you 'most starved?"

  "Scarcely starved, Mrs. Hargis," I said, "but with a very creditableappetite, when you consider that I ate breakfast only two hours ago."

  "Well, come right in," she said. "Your lunch is ready."

  "I suppose there's a telephone somewhere about?" I asked, as Ifollowed her through the hall.

  "Yes, sir, in here," and she opened the door into a little room fittedup as a study. "It's here Mr. Godfrey works sometimes."

  "Thank you," I said, "I've got to call up the office. I won't be but aminute."

  I found Godfrey's number stamped on the cover of the telephone book,and then called the office. As I had guessed, Swain was not yet backfrom lunch, and I left word for him to call me as soon as he came in.Then I made my way to the dining-room, where Mrs. Hargis was awaitingme.

  "How does one get out here from New York, Mrs. Hargis?" I asked, as Isat down. "That is, if one doesn't happen to own a motor car?"

  "Why, very easily, sir. Take the Third Avenue elevated to the end ofthe line, and then the trolley. It runs along Dryden Road, just twoblocks over."

  "Where does one get off?"

  "At Prospect Street, sir."

  "And what is this place called?"

  "This is the old Bennett place, sir."

  "Thank you. And let me tell you, Mrs. Hargis," I added, "that I havenever tasted a better salad."

  Her kindly old face flushed with pleasure.

  "It's nice of you to say that, sir," she said. "We have our owngarden, and William takes a great pride in it."

  "I must go and see it," I said. "I've always fancied I'd like topotter around in a garden. I must see if Mr. Godfrey won't let me inon this."

  "He spends an hour in it every morning. Sometimes he can hardly tearhimself away. I certainly do like Mr. Godfrey."

  "So do I," I agreed heartily. "He's a splendid fellow--one of thenicest, squarest men I ever met--and a friend worth having."

  "He's all of that, sir," she agreed, and stood for a moment, claspingand unclasping her hands nervously, as though there was something elseshe wished to say. But she evidently thought better of it. "There'sthe bell, sir," she added. "Please ring if there's anything else youwant," and she left me to myself.

  I had pushed back my chair and was filling my pipe when the telephonerang. It was Swain.

  "Swain," I said, "this is Mr. Lester. I'm at a place up here in theBronx, and I want you to come up right away."

  "Very good, sir," said Swain. "How do I get there?"

  "Take the Third Avenue elevated to the end of the line, and then thetrolley which runs along Dryden Road. Get off at Prospect Street, walktwo blocks west and ask for the old Bennett place. I'll have an eyeout for you."

  "All right, sir," said Swain, again. "Do you want me to bring somepapers, or anything?"

  "No; just come as quickly as you can," I answered, and hung up.

  I figured that, even at the best, it would take Swain an hour and ahalf to make the journey, and I strolled out under the trees again.Then the thought came to me that I might as well make a littleexploration of the neighbourhood, and I sauntered out to the road.Along it for some distance ran the high wall which bounded Elmhurst,and I saw that the wall had been further fortified by ugly pieces ofbroken glass set in cement along its top.

  I could see a break in the wall, about midway of its length, and,walking past, discovered that this was where the gates were set--heavygates of wrought iron, very tall, and surmounted by sharp spikes. Thewhole length of the wall was, I judged
, considerably over a cityblock, but there was no other opening in it.

  At the farther end, it was bounded by a crossroad, and, turning alongthis, I found that the wall extended nearly the same distance in thisdirection. There was an opening about midway--a small opening, closedby a heavy, iron-banded door--the servants' entrance, I told myself.The grounds of a row of houses facing the road beyond ran up to thewall at the back, and I could not follow it without attracting notice,but I could see that there was no break in it. I was almost certainthat the wall which closed the estate on Godfrey's side was alsounbroken. There were, then, only the two entrances.

  I walked back again to the front, and paused for a glance through thegates. But there was nothing to be seen. The driveway parted andcurved away out of sight in either direction, and a dense mass ofshrubbery opposite the gate shut off any view of the grounds. Even ofthe house, there was nothing to be seen except the chimneys and onegable. Evidently, Mr. Vaughan was fond of privacy, and had spared nopains to secure it.

  Opposite the Vaughan place, a strip of woodland ran back from theroad. It was dense with undergrowth, and, I reflected, would form anadmirable hiding-place. The road itself seemed little travelled, and Ijudged that the main artery of traffic was the road along which thetrolley ran, two blocks away.

  I returned to my starting point, and assured myself that the wall onthat side was indeed without a break. Some vines had started up ithere and there, but, for the most part, it loomed grey and bleak,crowned along its whole length by that threatening line of brokenglass. I judged it to be twelve feet high, so that, even without theglass, it would be impossible for anyone to get over it withoutassistance. As I stood there looking at it, resenting the threat ofthat broken glass, and pondering the infirmity of character which sucha threat revealed, it suddenly struck me that the upper part of thewall differed slightly from the lower part. It was a little lighter incolour, a little newer in appearance; and, examining the wall moreclosely, I discovered that originally it had been only eight or ninefeet high, and that the upper part had been added at a later date--andlast of all, of course, the broken glass!

  As I turned back, at last, toward the house, I saw someone coming upthe drive. In a moment, I recognised Swain, and quickened my steps.

  "You made good time," I said.

  "Yes, sir; I was fortunate in catching an express and not having towait for the trolley."

  "We'd better go into the house," I added. "I have a message for you--aconfidential message."

  He glanced at me quickly, but followed silently, as I led the way intoGodfrey's study and carefully closed the door.

  "Sit down," I said, and I sat down myself and looked at him.

  I had always thought Swain a handsome, thoroughbred-looking fellow;and I saw that, in the past few months, he had grown morethoroughbred-looking than ever. His face was thinner than when he hadfirst gone to work for us, there was a new line between his eyebrows,and the set of his lips told of battles fought and won. A year ago, ithad seemed natural to call him Freddie, but no one would think ofdoing so now. His father's creditors had not attempted to take fromhim his wardrobe--a costly and extensive one--so that he was dressedas carefully, if not quite as fashionably, as ever, in a way thatsuggested a young millionaire, rather than a fifteen-dollar-a-weekclerk. At this moment, his face was clouded, and he drummed the arm ofhis chair with nervous fingers. Then he shifted uneasily under mygaze, which was, perhaps, more earnest than I realised.

  "You said you had a message for me, sir," he reminded me.

  "Yes," I said. "Have you ever been out this way before?"

  "Yes, I have been out this way a number of times."

  "You know this place, then?"

  "I have heard it mentioned, but I have never been here before."

  "Do you know whose place that is next door to us?"

  "Yes," and his voice sank to a lower key. "It belongs to WorthingtonVaughan."

  "And you know him?"

  "At one time, I knew him quite well, sir," and his voice was stilllower.

  "No doubt," I went on, more and more interested, "you also knew hisvery fascinating daughter."

  A wave of colour crimsoned his face.

  "Why are you asking me these questions, Mr. Lester?" he demanded.

  "Because," I said, "the message I have is from that young lady, andis for a man named Frederic Swain."

  He was on his feet, staring at me, and all the blood was gone from hischeeks.

  "A message!" he cried. "From her! From Marjorie! What is it, Mr.Lester? For God's sake...."

  "Here it is," I said, and handed him the letter.

  He seized it, took one look at the address, then turned away to thewindow and ripped the envelope open. He unfolded the sheet of paper itcontained, and as his eyes ran along it, his face grew whiter still.At last he raised his eyes and stared at me with the look of a man whofelt the world tottering about him.