"What!" she exclaimed."Philip in Cleveland last night.I - I- don't understand." And looking at her Kent was astounded at the flash of terror which shone for an instant in her eyes.Before he had time to question her she bolted around the corridor.
Kent remained staring ahead for an instant then returned thoughtfully to his office, and within a second Sylvester received a telephone message to show Colonel McIntyre into Kent's office.Not only Colonel McIntyre followed the clerk into the room but Benjamin Clymer."Any further developments, Kent?" inquired the banker.
"No, we can't sit down; just dropped in to see you a minute.""There is nothing new," Kent had made instant decision; such information regarding the death of Turnbull as he had gleaned from Ferguson, and the events of the night before should be confided to Clymer alone, and not in the presence of Colonel McIntyre.
"Did you search Turnbull's apartment last night as you spoke of doing?" asked McIntyre.
"I did, and found no trace of your securities, Colonel."McIntyre lifted his eyebrows as he smiled sarcastically."Can Isee Rochester?" he asked.
"He is in Cleveland; I don't know just when he will be back.""Indeed? Too bad you haven't the benefit of his advice," remarked McIntyre insolently."At Clymer's request, Kent, I have allowed you until Saturday night to find the securities and either clear Turnbull's name or admit his guilt; there remain two days and a half before I take the affair in my own hands and make it public.""I hope to establish Turnbull's innocence before that time," retorted Kent coolly.
Inwardly his spirits sank; had not every effort on his part brought but further proof of Jimmie's guilt? That McIntyre would make no attempt to hush up the scandal was obvious.
"Keep me informed of your progress," McIntyre's manner was domineering and Kent felt the blood mount to his temples, but he was determined not to lose his temper whatever the provocation;McIntyre was Barbara's father.
Clymer, aware that the atmosphere was getting strained, diplomatically intervened.
"Dine with me to-night, Kent," he said."Perhaps you will then have some news that will throw light on the present whereabouts of the securities.I found, on ****** inquiries, that they have not been offered for sale in the usual channels.Come, McIntyre, Ihave a directors' meeting in twenty minutes."McIntyre, who had been swinging his walking stick from one hand to the other in marked impatience, turned to Kent, his manner more conciliatory.
"Pleasant quarters you have," he remarked."Does Rochester share his room with you?""No, Colonel, his is across the ante-room where you waited a few minutes ago," explained Kent as he accompanied his visitors to the door."This is my office.""Ah, yes, I thought as much on seeing only one desk," McIntyre's manner grew more cordial."Does Rochester's furniture duplicate yours, safe and all?""Safe - no, he has none; that is the firm's safe." Kent was becoming restless under so many personal questions."Good-by, Mr.
Clymer."
"Don't forget to-night at eight," the banker reminded him before stepping into the corridor."We'll dine at the Club de Vingt.
Come along, McIntyre."
Sylvester stopped Kent on his way back to his office and handed him the neatly typewritten copies of his brief, and with a word of thanks the lawyer went over to his desk and, gathering such papers as he required at the court house, he thrust them and the brief into his leather bag, but instead of hurrying on his way, he stood still to consider the events of the morning.
Helen McIntyre, during their interview, had not responded to his appeal for her confidence, nor vouchsafed any reason for her belief that Jimmie Turnbull had been the victim of foul play.And Colonel McIntyre had given him only until Saturday night to solve the problem! Kent's overwrought feelings found vent in an emphatic oath.
"Excuse me," exclaimed Sylvester mildly from the doorway."I knocked and understood you to say come in.
"Well, what is it?" Kent's nerves were getting a bit raw; a glance at his watch showed him he had a slender margin only in which to reach the court house in time for his appointment.Not even waiting for the clerk's reply he snatched up his brief case and made for the private door leading into the corridor.But he was destined not to get away without another interruption.
As Sylvester was hastily explaining, "Two gentlemen to see you, Mr.
Kent," the clerk was thrust aside and Detective Ferguson entered, accompanied by a deputy marshal.
"Sorry to detain you, Mr.Kent," exclaimed the detective."I came to tell you that Coroner Penfield has just called an inquest for this afternoon to inquire into Jimmie Turnbull's death.Where's your partner, Mr.Rochester?" looking around inquiringly.
"In Cleveland.Won't I do?" replied Kent, his appointment forgotten in the news that Ferguson had just given him.
"No, we didn't come for legal advice," Ferguson smiled; then grew serious."What's Mr.Rochester's address?"Kent walked over to his desk and picked up the telegram."The City Club, Cleveland," he stated.
"Thanks," Ferguson jotted down the address in his note-book.
"Jones, here," placing his hand on his companion, "came to serve Mr.Rochester with a subpoena; he's wanted at the Turnbull inquest as a material witness."
