Читать книгу Gordon Craig, Soldier of Fortune - Randall Parrish - Страница 10

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It was a rather narrow hallway and, with the exception of a thick carpet underfoot, unfurnished. Neale, appearing somewhat more slender in evening clothes, smiled at me genially, showing a gold-crowned tooth.

"Did not chance to hear your motor," he said easily, taking a cigarette case from his vest pocket. "You are a little late; what was it, tire trouble?"

"I came afoot," I answered, not overly-cordial. "It was farther across town than I supposed."

"Well, you 're here, and that is the main point. Have a cigarette. No?" as I shook my head. "All right, there are cigars in the room yonder—the second door to your left."

I entered where he indicated. It was a spacious apartment, evidently a library from the book-shelves along the walls, and the great writing table in the center. The high ceiling, and restful wall decorations were emphasized by all the furnishings, the soft rug, into which the feet sank noiselessly, the numerous leather-upholstered chairs, the luxurious couch, and the divan filling the bay-window. The only light was under a shaded globe on the central table, leaving the main apartment in shadows, but the windows had their heavy curtains closely drawn. The sole occupant was a man in evening dress, seated in a high-backed leather chair, facing the entrance, a small stand beside him, containing a half-filled glass, and an open box of cigars. Smoke circled above his head, his eyes upon me as I entered. With an indolent wave of one hand he seemingly invited me to take a vacant chair to the right, while Neale remained standing near the door.

This new position gave me a better view of his face, but I could not guess his age. His was one of those old-young faces, deeply lined, smooth-shaven, the hair clipped short, the flesh ashen-gray, the lips a mere straight slit, yielding a merciless expression; but the eyes, surveying me coldly, were the noticeable feature. They looked to be black, not large, but deep set, and with a most peculiar gleam, almost that of insanity, in their intense stare. Even as he lounged back amid the chair cushions I could see that he was tall, and a bit angular, his hand, holding a cigar, evidencing unusual strength. He must have stared at me a full minute, much as a jockey would examine a horse, before he resumed smoking.

"He will do very well, Neale," he decided, with a glance across at the other. "Possibly a trifle young."

"He has roughed it," returned the other reassuringly, "and that means more than years."

The first man laughed rather unpleasantly, and emptied his glass.

"So I have discovered. Have a cigar, or a drink, Craig?"

"I will smoke."

He passed me the box, watching me while I lighted the perfecto, Neale crossing to the divan.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-four."

"I thought about that. What part of the country do you hail from?" and I noticed now a faint Southern accent in the drawl of his voice.

"New England."

"Ever been south?"

"Only as far as St. Louis. I was at Jefferson Barracks."

"Neale said you were in the army—full enlistment?"

"Yes; discharged as corporal."

"Ah; what regiment?"

"Third Cavalry."

His black eyes swept across toward Neale, his fingers drumming nervously on the leather arm of the chair.

"Exactly; then your service was in Oregon and the Philippines. Tramped some since, I understand—broke?"

"No," shortly, not greatly enjoying his style of questioning. "I 've got three dollars."

"A magnificent sum," chuckling. "However, the point is, you would be glad of a job that paid well, and would n't mind if there was a bit of excitement connected with it—hey?"

"What is your idea of paying well?"

"Expenses liberally figured," he replied slowly, "and ten thousand dollars for a year's work, if done right."

I half rose to my feet in surprise, believing he was making sport, but the fellow never moved or smiled.

"Sit down, man. This is no pipe dream, and I mean it. In fact, I am willing to hand you half of the money down. That 's all right, Neale," he added as the other made a gesture of dissent. "I know my business, and enough about men to judge Craig here for that amount. That we are in earnest we have got to assure him someway, and money talks best. See here, Craig," and he leaned forward, peering into my face, "you look to me like the right man for what we want done; you are young, strong, sufficiently intelligent, and a natural fighter. All right, I 'm sporting man enough to bet five thousand on your making good. If you fail it will be worse for you, that's all. I 'm not a good man to double-cross, see! All you have got to do to earn your money is obey orders strictly, and keep your tongue still. Do you get that?"

I nodded, waiting to learn more.

"It may require a year, but more likely much less time. That makes no difference—it will be ten thousand for you just the same," his voice had grown crisp and sharp. "What do you say?"

"That the proposition looks good, only I should like to know a little more clearly what I am expected to do."

"A bit squeamish, hey! got a troublesome conscience?"

"Not particularly—but there is a limit."

He slowly lit a fresh cigar, studying the expression of my face in the light, as though deciding upon a course of action. Neale moved uneasily, but made no attempt to break the silence. Finally, with a more noticeable drawl in his voice, the man in the armchair began his explanation.

"Very good; we 'll come down to facts. It will not take long. In the first place my name is Vail—Justus C. Vail. That may tell you who I am?"

I shook my head negatively.

"No; well, I am a lawyer of some reputation in this State, and my entire interest in this affair is that of legal adviser to Mr. Neale. With this in mind I will state briefly the peculiar circumstances wherein you are involved." He checked the points off carefully with one hand, occasionally glancing at a slip of paper lying on the table as though to refresh his memory. I listened intently, watching his face, and dimly conscious of Neale's restlessness. "Here is the case as submitted to me: Judge Philo Henley, formerly of the United States Circuit Court, retired at sixty-four and settled upon a large plantation near Carrollton, Alabama. His wife died soon after, and, a week or so ago, the Judge also departed this life, leaving an estate valued in excess of five hundred thousand dollars. Philo Henley and wife had but one child, now a young man of twenty-five years, named Philip. As a boy he was wild and unmanageable, and, finally, when about twenty years old, some prank occurred of so serious a nature that the lad ran away. He came North, and was unheard-of for some time, living under an assumed name. Later some slight correspondence ensued between father and son, and the boy was granted a regular allowance. The father was a very eccentric man, harsh and unforgiving, and, while giving the boy money, never extended an invitation to return home. Consequently Philip remained in the North, and led his own life. He became dissipated, and a rounder, and drifted into evil associations. Finally, about six months ago, he married a girl in this city, not of wealthy family, but of respectable antecedents. Her home, we understand, was in Spokane, and she had an engagement on the stage when she first met Henley. He married her under his assumed name and they began housekeeping in a flat on the north side."

He paused in his recital, took a drink, his eyes turning toward Neale; then resumed in the same level voice:

"The Judge learned of this marriage in some way, and began to insist that the son return home with his wife. Circumstances prevented, however, and the visit was deferred. Meanwhile, becoming more eccentric as he grew older, the father discharged all his old servants, and lived the life of a recluse. When he died suddenly, and almost alone, he left a will, probably drawn up soon after he learned of his son's wedding, leaving his property to Philip, providing the young man returned, with his wife, to live upon the estate within six months; otherwise the entire estate should be divided among certain named charities. Three administrators were named, of whom Neale here was one."

I glanced back at the man referred to; he was leaning forward, his elbow on his knees, and, catching my eyes, drew a legal-looking paper from his pocket.

"Here is a copy of the will," he said, "if Craig cares to examine it."

"Not now," I replied. "Let me hear the entire story first."

Vail leaned back in his chair, a cigar between his lips.

"The administrators," he went on, as though uninterrupted, and repeating a set speech, "endeavored to locate young Henley, but failed. Then Mr. Neale was sent here to make a personal search. He came to me for aid, and legal advice. Finally we found the flat where the young couple had lived. It was deserted, and we learned from neighbors that they had quarreled, and the wife left him. We have been unable to discover her whereabouts. She did not return to, or communicate with, her own people in the West, or with any former friends in this city. She simply disappeared, and we have some reason to believe committed suicide. The body of a young woman, fitting her general description, was taken from the river, and buried without identification."

"And young Henley?" I asked, as he paused.

"Henley," he continued gravely, "was at last located, under an assumed name, as a prisoner in the Indiana penitentiary at Michigan City, serving a sentence of fourteen years for forgery. He positively refuses to identify himself as Philip Henley, and all our efforts to gain him a pardon have failed."

"But what have I to do with all this?" I questioned, beginning to have a faint glimmer of the truth.

"Wait, and I will explain fully. Don't interrupt until I am done. Here was a peculiar situation. The administrators are all old personal friends of the testator, anxious to have the estate retained in the family. How could this be accomplished? Neale laid the case before me. I can see but one feasible method—illegal, to be sure, and yet justifiable under the circumstances. Someone must impersonate Philip Henley long enough to permit the settlement of the estate."

I rose to my feet indignantly.

"And you thought I would consent? would be a party to this fraud?"

"Now, wait, Craig," as calmly as ever. "This is nothing to be ashamed of, nor, so far as I can see, as a lawyer, does it involve danger. It will make a man of Henley, reunite him with his wife if she still lives, and give him standing in the world. Scattered about among charities the Lord knows who it would benefit—a lot of beggars likely. We are merely helping the boy to retain what is rightfully his. Don't throw this chance away, hastily—ten thousand dollars is pretty good pay for a couple of months' work."

I sank back into my chair undecided, yet caught by the glitter of the promise. Why not? Surely, it would do no harm, and, if the administrators were satisfied, what cause had I to object. They were responsible, and, if they thought this the best course, I might just as well take my profit. If not they would find someone else who would.

"But—but can that be done?" I asked hesitatingly.

Vail smiled, confident of my yielding.

"Easily," he assured. "Young Henley has been away five years; even before that he was absent at school so much as to be practically unknown except to the older servants. These have all been discharged, and scattered. The wife is entirely unknown there. Anyone, bearing ever so slight a resemblance, would pass muster. All you need do is read the father's letters over, post yourself on a few details and take possession. We will attend to all legal matters."

"Then you consider that I resemble Henley?"

"No," coolly, "not in any remarkable manner, but sufficient for our purpose—age, size, general appearance answers very well; nose, eyes and hair are alike, and general contour of the face is similar. There is not likely to be any close scrutiny. Here is young Henley's photograph."

He picked it up from among the papers, and handed it over to me. There was a resemblance, recognizable now that my attention had been called to it, certain features being remarkably similar, although the face in the picture wore a hard, dissipated look utterly at variance with my own. I glanced at the endorsement on the back.

"He was going to send this photograph to his father."

"Yes, but never did. Apparently there is no flaw in our plan."