To Him That Hath

by Leroy Scott

  CHAPTER III

  THE BARGAIN

  David was still sitting bowed amid appalling darkness, when Mrs.Humphrey knocked and called to him that dinner waited. He had no leastdesire for food, and as he feared his face might advertise hisdiscoveries to Dr. Thorn and Mrs. Humphrey, he slipped out of theapartment and sent word by the janitor that he would not be in todinner. For an hour and a half he walked the tenement-cliffed streets,trying to force his distracted mind to deduce the probable consequencesof Morton's acts.

  At length one result stood forth distinct, inevitable: Morton's deathwas not going to save his good name. In a few days his embezzlementwould be discovered. There would be an investigation as to what he haddone with the money. Try as the committee might to keep the mattersecret, the embezzlement would leak out and afford sensational copy forthe papers. Lillian Drew, out of her malevolence, would manage to triplethe scandal with her story; and then someone would climax the twoexposures by putting one and one together, as he had done, and deducingthat Morton's lamented death was suicide. In a week, perhaps in threedays, all New York would know what David knew.

  He was re-entering the club-house, shortly after eight o'clock, when thesound of singing in the chapel reminded him that the regular Thursdayeven prayer-meeting had been turned into a neighbourhood memorialservice for Morton. He slipped quietly into the rear of the chapel. Itwas crowded, as at the funeral. Dr. Thorn, who was temporarily at thehead of the Mission, was on the rostrum, but a teamster from theneighbourhood was in charge of the meeting. The order of the serviceconsisted of brief tributes to Morton, brief statements of what he hadmeant to their lives. As David listened to the testimonies, uncouth inthe wording, but splendid in feeling, the speaker sometimes stopped byhis own emotion, sometimes by sobbing from the audience--his tearsloosened and flowed with theirs.

  And then came a change in his view-point. He found himself thinking, notof Morton the individual, Morton his friend, but of Morton in hisrelation to these people. What great good he had brought them! Howdependent they had been upon him, how they now clung to him and werelifted up by his memory! And how they loved him!

  But what would they be saying about him a week hence?

  The question plunged into David like a knife. He hurried from the chapeland upstairs into Morton's study. Here was the most ghastly of all theconsequences of Morton's deeds. What would be the effect on these peopleof the knowledge he had gained that afternoon? They were notdiscriminating, could not select the good, discard and forget the evil.He still loved Morton; Morton to him was a man strong and great atninety-nine points, weak at one. Impregnable at all other points,temptations had assailed his one weakness, conquered him and turned hislife into complete disaster. But, David realised, the neighbourhoodcould not see Morton as he saw him. They could see only the evils of hisone point of weakness, see him only as guilty of larger sins than themost sinful of themselves--as a libertine, an embezzler, a suicide.

  And they would be helped to this new view by the elements he had fought.How old Boss Grogan would rejoice in Morton's fall--how his one eyewould light up, and triumph overspread his veinous, pouched face! How heand his henchmen, victory-sure, would return to their attack on theMission, going among its people with sneers at Morton and at them!

  There was no doubt in David's mind of the effect of all this upon them.The words of a shrivelled old woman who had given tribute in the chapelstayed in his memory. "He has been to me like St. Christopher, what thisplace is called from," she had quavered. "He holds me in his arms andcarries me over the dark waters." Exactly the case with all of them,David thought. Morton, who had lifted them out of darkness, wassupporting them over the ferry of life--till a few days ago by hispresence among them, now and in the future by the powerful influence inwhich he had enarmed them. Once they saw their St. Christopher as baserthan themselves [and what a picture Grogan would keep before theireyes!], they would call him hypocrite, despise his support and theshore whither he carried them; his strength to save them would be gone,and they would fall back into the darkness out of which they had beengathered.

  David's concern was now all for these unsuspecting hundreds mourning andpraising Morton in the chapel. Presently, amid the chaos in his mind,one thought assumed definite shape: if the people were kept inignorance, if Morton were kept pure in their eyes, would not their lovefor him, the saving influence he had set about them, remain just aspotent as though he were in truth unspotted? Yes--without doubt. Andthen this question asked itself: could they be kept in ignorance? Yes,if the embezzlement could be concealed--for Morton's relations withLillian Drew and his suicide would come before the public only by beingdragged, as it were, by this engine of disgrace.

  David's whole mind, his whole being, was suddenly gripped by the thoughtthat by concealing the embezzlement he could save these hundreds ofpersons from falling back into the abyss. But how conceal it? The answerwas ready at his mind's ear: by replacing the money. But where get themoney? He had almost nothing himself, for the little fortune from hisfather with which he had been eking out his meagre earnings was now inits last dollars, and he had hardly a friend in New York. Again theanswer was ready: take into the secret some rich man interested in theMission--he'd gladly furnish the money rather than have St.Christopher's dishonoured.

  This idea rapidly shaped itself into a definite plan. At half-past nineDavid left the study and descended the stairs, with the decision tocomplete the lesser details of his scheme that night, leaving only thegetting of the money for the morrow. The moment he stepped into thenever-quiet street, he pressed back into the shadow of the club-houseentrance, for out of the chapel was riling the mourning crowd--some ofthe women crying silently, some of the men having traces of recenttears, all stricken with their heavy loss. Yes, their loss was grievous,but, God helping him, that which was left them they should notlose!--and David gazed upon them till the last was out, with a tinglingglow of saviourship.

  Half an hour later he was standing before the apartment house he hadvisited that afternoon. A dull glow through Lillian Drew's shadesinformed him she was at home; and, glancing through the open basementwindow into the janitor's apartment, he saw his guide of the afternoonstretched on a shabby lounge. He was not proud of the part he was aboutto play; but for Lillian Drew to remain in town--danger was in this thatmust be avoided.

  That afternoon he had noticed there was a telephone in the house. He nowwalked back to a drug store on whose front he had seen the sign of apublic telephone. He closed himself in the booth, and soon had LillianDrew on the wire.

  "This is a friend with a tip," he said. "I just happened to overhear aman ask a policeman to come with him to arrest you."

  "What was the man like?" came tremulously from the receiver.

  David began a faithful description of himself, but before he was halfthrough he heard the receiver at the other end of the wire click intoplace upon its hook. He returned to where he had a view of the entranceof the apartment house, and almost at once he saw Lillian Drew comehurriedly out. He then walked over to Broadway, asked a policeman toarrest a woman on his complaint, and led the officer to the apartmenthouse.

  He rang the janitor's bell, and after a minute it was answered by his"safe" friend. He put on his most ominous look. "Is Lillian Drew in?" hedemanded.

  "No; she just went out," the janitor answered, glancing in fear at thepoliceman.

  The officer gave him a shove. "Bluffin' don't work on me. You just takeus up, you old booze-tank, and we'll have a look around for ourselves."

  They searched the flat, followed about by the frightened black maid, butfound no Lillian Drew. As they were leaving the house David againdirected his ominous look upon the janitor. "Don't you tell her we werehere," he ordered; and then he whispered to the policeman, but for thejanitor's ears, "I'll get her in the morning."

  He walked away with the officer, but quickly returned to his place ofobservation. He saw the janitor come furtively out and hurry away, andin a little while he saw Lillian Dre
w enter--and he knew that thejanitor, who had summoned her, had told of her narrow escape and of thedanger in which she stood.

  He wandered about, passing the house from time to time. Toward twelveo'clock, when he again drew near the house, the great van of a storagewarehouse was before it, and men were carrying out furniture. Beside thevan stood an express wagon in which was a trunk, and coming out of thedoorway was a man bearing on his back another trunk, from the end ofwhich dangled a baggage check. As the man staggered across the sidewalk,David stepped behind him, caught the tag and read it by the light thatstreamed from the entrance. The trunk was checked to Chicago.

  Lillian Drew would make no trouble. One part of his plan was completed.Half an hour later David was back in Morton's study, beginning anotherpart of his preparation. To prevent suspicion when the Boys' FarmCommittee discovered the replaced money, to make it appear that thedrawing of the fund was no more than a business absurdity such as isnormally expected from clergymen, David had determined to surround thepresence of the money in the safe with the formality of an account. Atthe head of a slip of paper he wrote, "Cash Account of Boys' SummerHome," and beneath it, copying from the stubs of the cheque-book: "June7, Drawn from Bank $500"; and beneath this, under their respectivedates, the six other amounts. Then at the foot of these he wrote underdate of September fifteenth, the day before Morton's death, "Cash onhand, $5,000."

  These items he set down in a fair copy of Morton's hand, not adifficult mimicry since their writing was naturally much alike and had afurther similarity from their both using stub pens. He wrote with anink, which he had secured for the purpose on his way home, thatimmediately after drying was of as dead a black as though it had been onpaper for weeks. He put the slip, with the bank-book and cheque-book,into the drawer of the safe. To-morrow the five thousand dollars wouldgo in there with them, and Morton's name, and the people of St.Christopher's, would be secure.

  He had not yet disposed of the letters Lillian Drew had given him. Hecarried the packet into the sitting-room, tore the letters into shredsand heaped them in the grate between the brass andirons. Then he toucheda match to the yellow pile, and watched the destroying flames springfrom the record of Morton's unholy love--as though they were the redspirit of that passion leaping free. He sat for a long space, the deadhush of sleep about him, gazing at where the heap had been. Only asheswere left by those passionate flames. A symbol of Morton, thus it struckDavid's fancy. Just so those flames had left of Morton only ashes.

  The next morning David had before him the task of getting the money. Hehad determined to approach Mr. Chambers first, and he was in the greatbanking house of Alexander Chambers & Company, in Wall Street, as earlyas he thought he could decently appear there. He was informed that Mr.Chambers had gone out to attend several directors' meetings--not verysurprising, since Mr. Chambers was a director in half a hundredcompanies--and that the time of his return was uncertain, if indeed hereturned at all. David went next to the office of Mr. Haddon, treasurerof the Mission and of the Boys' Farm Committee, and one of the Mission'slargest givers. Mr. Haddon, he was told, had left the office an hourbefore for St. Christopher's.

  David hurried back to the Mission, wondering what Mr. Haddon's errandthere could be, and hoping to catch him before he left. As he wasstarting up the stairway the janitor stopped him. "Mr. Haddon was askingfor you," the janitor said. "And Miss Chambers, too. I think she's inthe reception room."

  David turned back, walked down the hall and entered the dim receptionroom. She was sitting in a Flemish oak settle near a window, her handsclasped upon an idle book in her lap, gazing fixedly into vacancy. Herdress of mourning was almost lost in the shadow, and her face alone,softly lighted from between the barely parted dark-green hangings, haddistinctness. He paused at the door and gazed long at her. Then hecrossed the bare floor.

  She rose, gave him her firm, slender hand, and, allowing him half thesettle, resumed her seat. Now that he could look directly into her face,he saw there repressed anxiety.

  "I came down this morning on an errand about the Flower Guild," shesaid. "I'm going back to the country this afternoon. I've been waitingto see you because I wanted to tell you something."

  She paused. David was conscious that she was making an effort to keepher anxiety out of her voice and manner.

  "It's not at all important," she went on. "Just a little matter aboutMr. Morton. Oh, it's nothing wrong," she added quickly, noticing thatDavid had suddenly paled. "I'm sure nothing unpleasant is going todevelop. But I wanted you to know it, so that if there was any littledifficulty, you wouldn't be taken by surprise."

  David's pulses stopped. "Yes?" he said. "Yes?"

  She had become very white. "It's about the money of the Boys' FarmCommittee. Day before yesterday morning Mr. Haddon went to the ThirdNational Bank to arrange for withdrawing the funds he had deposited inMr. Morton's name. He found--Mr. Morton had withdrawn it."

  "Yes?"

  "Please remember, I'm sure nothing's wrong. Of course Mr. Haddon actedimmediately. He called a meeting of the committee; they decided to makea quiet investigation at once. Father told me about it. So far theyhaven't found the money, but of course they will. The worst part is, thenewspapers have somehow learned that five thousand dollars is missingfrom the Mission. The sum is not so large, but for it to disappear inconnection with a place like this--you can see what a great scandal thepapers are scenting? Several reporters were here just a little whileago. I sent them upstairs to Mr. Haddon."

  He stared at her dizzily. His plan was come to naught. Morton's shamewas about to be trumpeted over the city. The people of St. Christopher'swere about to topple back into the abyss.

  "What is Mr. Haddon doing upstairs?"

  "It occurred to him that possibly Mr. Morton had put the money in thesafe in his study. I'm certain the money's there. Mr. Haddon's up in thestudy with a safe-opening expert."

  For a moment David sat muted by the impending disaster. Then he rose."Come--let's go up!" he said.

  They mounted the stairs in silence, and in the corridor leading toMorton's apartment passed half a dozen reporters. David unlocked theapartment with his latch-key, led the way to Morton's study, and pushedopen its door. Before the safe sat a heavily spectacled man carefullyturning its dial-plate and knob. On one side of him stood Dr. Thorn, hisformal features pale, and on the other side gray-haired Mr. Haddon, hishard, lean face, milled with financial wrinkles like a dollar's edge, asexpressionless as though he was in the midst of a Wall Street crisis.

  Mr. Haddon recognised the presence of David and Helen with a slight nod,but Dr. Thorn stepped to David's side.

  "You've heard about it?" he asked in an agitated voice.

  "Yes--Miss Chambers told me."

  At that moment the safe door swung open. "There you are," said thespectacled man, with a complacent little grunt.

  Mr. Haddon dismissed the man and knelt before the safe. Helen and Dr.Thorn leaned over him, and David, still stunned by the suddenness of thecatastrophe, looked whitely on from behind them. A minute, and Mr.Haddon's search was over.

  He looked about at the others. "It's not here," he said quietly.

  A noise at the door caused all to turn in that direction. There stoodthe reporters. They had edged into the apartment as the safe-expert hadgone out.

  "Will you gentlemen please wait outside!" requested Mr. Haddon, sharply.

  "We've got to hurry to catch the afternoon editions," one spoke up."Can't you give us the main facts right now? You've got 'em all--I justheard you say the money wasn't here."

  "I'll see you in a few minutes," answered Mr. Haddon, and brusquelypressed them before him into the corridor.

  When he reentered the study he looked at them all grimly. "There'sabsolutely no keeping this from the papers," he said.

  "But there must still be another place the money can be!" Helen cried.

  "I've investigated every other place," returned Mr. Haddon, in the calmvoice of finality. "The safe was the last possibility."r />
  They all three stared at each other. It was Dr. Thorn that spoke thethought of all. "Then the worst we feared--is true?"

  Mr. Haddon nodded. "It must be."

  David could not speak, nor think--could only lean sickened against thedesk. The exposure of Morton--and a thousand times worse, the ruin ofSt. Christopher's--both inevitable!

  "Won't you please look again!" Helen cried, with desperate hope."Perhaps you overlooked something."

  Mr. Haddon knelt once more, and slowly fluttered the pages of the booksand scrutinised each scrap of paper. Soon he paused, and studied a sliphe had come upon. Then he rose, and David saw at the head of the slip,"Cash Account of Boys' Summer Home." It was the paper he had prepared tohide Morton's embezzlement.

  Mr. Haddon's steady eyes took in David and Dr. Thorn. "Could anybodyhave been in the safe since Mr. Morton's death?"

  "It's hardly possible," returned Dr. Thorn. "Mr. Aldrich has been in thestudy almost constantly."

  Mr. Haddon's eyes fastened on David; a quick gleam came into them.David, unnerved as he was, could not keep his face from twitching.

  There was a long silence. Then Mr. Haddon asked quietly:

  "Could you have been in the safe, Mr. Aldrich?"

  David did not recognise whither the question led. "Why, yes," he saidmechanically.

  Mr. Haddon held out the slip of paper. "According to this memorandum inMr. Morton's hand, the money was in the safe the day before his death."His eyes screwed into David. "Perhaps you can suggest to us what becameof the money."

  David stared at him blankly.

  "The money--was there--when Morton died!" said Dr. Thorn amazedly. Helooked from one man to the other. Then understanding came into his face,and a great relief. "You mean--Mr. Aldrich--took it?"

  "I took it!" David repeated stupidly.

  He turned slowly to Helen. Her white face, with its wide eyes and partedlips, and the sudden look of fear she held upon him, cleared his head,made him see where he was.

  "I did not take the money!" he cried.

  "No, of course not," returned Mr. Haddon grimly. "But who did?"

  "If I'd taken it, wouldn't I have disappeared? Would I have been such afool as to have stayed here to be caught?"

  "If the thief had run away, that would have fastened the guilt on him atonce. To remain here, hoping to throw suspicion on Mr. Morton--this wasthe cleverest course."

  "I did not take the money!" David cried desperately. "It's a lie!"

  Helen moved to David's side, and gazed straight into Mr. Haddon'saccusing face. Indignation was replacing her astoundment; her cheekswere tingeing with red.

  "What, would you condemn a man upon mere guess-work!" she cried. "Merelybecause the money is not there, is that proof that Mr. Aldrich took it?Do you call this justice, Mr. Haddon?"

  Mr. Haddon's look did not alter, and he did not reply. The opinion ofwomankind he had ever considered negligible.

  Helen turned to David and gave him her hand. "I believe you."

  He thanked her with a look.

  "It must have been Mr. Morton," she said.

  Her words first thrilled him. Then suddenly they rang out as a knell. Ifhe threw off the guilt, it must fall on Morton; if Morton were publiclyguilty, then the hundreds of the Mission--

  Mr. Haddon's hard voice broke in, changeless belief in its tone: "Mr.Aldrich took it."

  David looked at Mr. Haddon, looked whitely at Helen. And then the greatThought was conceived, struggled dizzily, painfully, into birth. Hestood shivering, awed, before it....

  He slowly turned and walked to a window and gazed down into the street,filled with children hurrying home from school. The Thought spoke to himin vivid flashes. He had no relatives, almost no friends. He loved HelenChambers; but he was nobody and a beggar. He had not doneanything--perhaps could never do anything--and even if he did, his workwould probably be of little worth. He had wanted his life to be ofservice; had wanted to sell it, as it were, for the largest good hecould perform. Well, here were the people of St. Christopher's topplingover the edge of destruction. Here was his Great Bargain--the chance tosell his life for the highest price.

  As to what he had done with the five thousand, which of course he'd beasked--well, an evening of gambling would be a sufficient explanation.

  He turned about.

  "Well?" said Mr. Haddon.

  David avoided Helen's look. He felt himself borne upward to the apex oflife.

  "Yes ... I took it," he said.

  BOOK II

  THE CLOSED ROAD