The Danger Mark Part 66

The possibility that his father could be involved in any of the spectacular schemes which had evidently caught Dysart, seemed so remote that Duane's incredulity permitted him to sleep that night, though the name Yo Espero haunted his dreams.

But in the morning, something he read in the paper concerning a vast enterprise, involving the control of the new radium mines in Southern California, startled him into trying to recollect what he had heard of Yo Espero and the Cascade Development and Securities Company. Tainting its t.i.tle the sinister name of Moebus seemed to reoccur persistently in his confused imagination. Dysart's name, too, figured in it. And, somehow, he conceived an idea that his father once received some mining engineer's reports covering the matter; he even seemed to remember that Guy Wilton had been called into consultation.

Whatever a.s.sociations he had for the name of the Cascade Development and Securities Company must have originated in Paris the year before his father returned to America. It seemed to him that Wilton had been in Spain that year examining the recent and marvellously rich radium find; and that his father and Wilton exchanged telegrams very frequently concerning a mine in Southern California known as Yo Espero.

His father breakfasted in his room that morning, but when he appeared in the library Duane was relieved to notice that his step was firmer and he held himself more erect, although his extreme pallor had not changed to a healthier colour.

"You know," said Duane, "you've simply got to get out of town for a while. It's all bally rot, your doing this sort of thing."

"I may go West for a few weeks," said his father absently.

"Are you going down-town?"

"No.... And, Duane, if you don't mind letting me have the house to myself this morning----"

He hesitated, glancing from his son to the telephone.

"Of course not," said Duane heartily. "I'm off to the studio----"

"I don't mean to throw you out," murmured his father with a painful attempt to smile, "but there's a stenographer coming from my office and several--business acquaintances."

The young fellow rose, patted his father's shoulder lightly:

"What is really of any importance," he said, "is that you keep your health and spirits. What I said last night covers my sentiments. If I can do anything in the world for you, tell me."

His father took the outstretched hand, lifted his faded eyes with a strange dumb look; and so they parted.

On Fifth Avenue and Fifty-ninth Street, Duane, swinging along at a good pace, turned westward, and half-way to Sixth Avenue encountered Guy Wilton going east, a packet under one arm, stick and hat in the other hand, the summer wind blowing the thick curly hair from his temples.

"Ah," observed Wilton, "early bird and worm, I suppose? Don't try to bolt me, Duane; I'm full of tough and undigested--er--problems, myself.

Besides, I'm fermenting. Did you ever silently ferment while listening politely to a man you wanted to a.s.sault?"

Duane laughed, then his eye by accident, caught a superscription on the packet of papers under Wilton's arm: Yo Espero! His glance reverted in a flash to Wilton's face.

The latter said: "I want to write a book ent.i.tled 'Gentleman I Have Kicked.' Of course I've only kicked 'em mentally; but my! what a list I have!--all sorts, all nations--from certain domestic and predatory statesmen to the cad who made his beautiful and sensitive mistress notorious in a decadent novel!--all kinds, Duane, have I kicked mentally I've just used my foot on another social favorite----"

"Dysart!" said Duane, inspired, and, turning painfully red, begged Wilton's pardon.

"You've sure got a disconcerting way with you," admitted Wilton, very much out of countenance.

"It was rotten bad taste in me----"

Wilton grinned with a wry face: "n.o.body is standing much on ceremony these days. Besides, I'm on to your trail, young man"--tapping the bundle under his arm--"your eye happened to catch that superscription; no doubt your father has talked to you; and you came to--a rather embarra.s.sing conclusion."

Duane's serious face fell:

"My father and I have not talked on that subject, Guy. Are you going up to see him now?"

Wilton hesitated: "I suppose I am.... See here, Duane, how much do you know about--anything?"

"Nothing," he said without humour; "I'm beginning to worry over my father's health.... Guy, don't tell me anything that my father's son ought not to know; but is there something I should know and don't?--anything in which I could possibly be of help to my father?"

Wilton looked carefully at a distant policeman for nearly a minute, then his meditative glance became focussed on vacancy.

"I--don't--know," he said slowly. "I'm going to see your father now. If there is anything to tell, I think he ought to tell it to you. Don't you?"

"Yes. But he won't. Guy, I don't care a d.a.m.n about anything except his health and happiness. If anything threatens either, he won't tell me, but don't you think I ought to know?"

"You ask too hard a question for me to answer."

"Then can you answer me this? Is father at all involved in any of Jack Dysart's schemes?"

"I--had better not answer, Duane."

"You know best. You understand that it is nothing except anxiety for his personal condition that I thought warranted my b.u.t.ting into his affairs and yours."

"Yes, I understand. Let me think over things for a day or two. Now I've got to hustle. Good-bye."

He hastened on eastward; Duane went west, slowly, more slowly, halted, head bent in troubled concentration; then he wheeled in his tracks with nervous decision, walked back to the Plaza Club, sent for a cab, and presently rattled off up-town.

In a few minutes the cab swung east and came to a standstill a few doors from Fifth Avenue; and Duane sprang out and touched the b.u.t.ton at a bronze grille.

The servant who admitted him addressed him by name with smiling deference and ushered him into a two-room reception suite beyond the tiny elevator.

There was evidently somebody in the second room; Duane had also noticed a motor waiting outside as he descended from his cab; so he took a seat and sat twirling his walking-stick between his knees, gloomily inspecting a room which, in pleasanter days, had not been unfamiliar to him.

Instead of the servant returning, there came a click from the elevator, a quick step, and the master of the house himself walked swiftly into the room wearing hat and gloves.

"What do you want?" he inquired briefly.

"I want to ask you a question or two," said Duane, shocked at the change in Dysart's face. Haggard, thin, snow-white at the temples with the light in his eyes almost extinct, the very precision and freshness of linen and clothing brutally accentuated the ravaged features.

"What questions?" demanded Dysart, still standing, and without any emotion whatever in either voice or manner.

"The first is this: are you in communication with my father concerning mining stock known as Yo Espero?"

"I am."

"Is my father involved in any business transactions in which you figure, or have figured?"

"There are some. Yes."

"Is the Cascade Development and Securities Co. one of them?"

"Yes, it is."

Duane's lips were dry with fear; he swallowed, controlled the rising anger that began to twitch at his throat, and went on in a low, quiet voice:

"Is this man--Moebus--connected with any of these transactions in which you and--and my father are interested?"