The Sword of Damocles Part 46

"As for the mistake of a year ago to which you have seen proper to allude, I shall myself take pains to inform Mr. Stuyvesant of it, since it has made such an impression upon you that it trammels your honesty and makes you consider it at all necessary to be anxious about it at this time."

And Hopgood unused to sarcasm from those lips, drew himself together, and with one more agitated look at the box on the table, sidled awkwardly from the room. Mr. Sylvester at once advanced to the screen which he hastily pushed aside. "Well, sir," said he, meeting the detective's wavering eye and forcing him to return his look, "you have now seen the various employees of the bank and heard most of them converse. Is there anything more you would like to inquire into before giving us the opinion I requested?"

"No sir," said the detective, coming forward, but very slowly and somewhat hesitatingly for him. "I think I am ready to say--"

Here the door opened, and Mr. Stuyvesant returned. The detective drew a breath of relief and repeated his words with a business-like a.s.surance.

"I think I am ready to say, that from the nature of the theft and the mysterious manner in which it has been perpetrated, suspicion undoubtedly points to some one connected with the bank. That is all that you require of me to-day?" he added, with a bow of some formality in the direction of Mr. Sylvester.

"Yes," was the short reply. But in an instant a change pa.s.sed over the stately form of the speaker. Advancing to Mr. Gryce, he confronted him with a countenance almost majestic in its severity, and somewhat severely remarked, "This is a serious charge to bring against men whose countenances you yourself have denominated as honest. Are we to believe you have fully considered the question, and realize the importance of what you say?"

"Mr. Sylvester," replied the detective, with great self-possession and some dignity, "a man who is brought every day of his life into positions where the least turning of a hair will sink a man or save him, learns to weigh his words, before he speaks even in such informal inquiries as these."

Mr. Sylvester bowed and turned towards Mr. Stuyvesant. "Is there any further action you would like to have taken in regard to this matter to-day?" he asked, without a tremble in his voice.

With a glance at the half open box of the absent Mr. Harrington, the agitated director slowly shook his head. "We must have time to think,"

said he.

Mr. Gryce at once took up his hat. "If the charge implied in my opinion strikes you, gentlemen, as serious, you must at least acknowledge that your own judgment does not greatly differ from mine, or why such unnecessary agitation in regard to a loss so petty, by a gentleman worth as we are told his millions." And with this pa.s.sing shot, to which neither of his auditors responded, he made his final obeisance and calmly left the room.

Mr. Sylvester and Mr. Stuyvesant slowly confronted one another.

"The man speaks the truth," said the former. "You at least suspect some one in the bank, Mr. Stuyvesant?"

"I have no wish to," hastily returned the other, "but facts--"

"Would facts of this nature have any weight with you against the unspotted character of a man never known by you to meditate, much less commit a dishonest action?"

"No; yet facts are facts, and if it is proved that some one in our employ has perpetrated a theft, the mind will unconsciously ask who, and remain uneasy till it is satisfied."

"And if it never is?"

"It will always ask who, I suppose."

Mr. Sylvester drew back. "The matter shall be pushed," said he; "you shall be satisfied. Surveillance over each man employed in this inst.i.tution ought sooner or later to elicit the truth. The police shall take it in charge."

Mr. Stuyvesant looked uneasy. "I suppose it is only justice," murmured he, "but it is a scandal I would have been glad to avoid."

"And I, but circ.u.mstances admit of no other course. The innocent must not suffer for the guilty, even so far as an unfounded suspicion would lead."

"No, no, of course not." And the director bustled about after his overcoat and hat.

Mr. Sylvester watched him with growing sadness. "Mr. Stuyvesant," said he, as the latter stood before him ready for the street, "we have always been on terms of friends.h.i.+p, and nothing but the most pleasant relations have ever existed between us. Will you pardon me if I ask you to give me your hand in good-day?"

The director paused, looked a trifle astonished, but held out his hand not only with cordiality but very evident affection.

"Good day," cried he, "good-day."

Mr. Sylvester pressed that hand, and then with a dignified bow, allowed the director to depart. It was his last effort at composure. When the door closed, his head sank on his hands, and life with all its hopes and honors, love and happiness, seemed to die within him.

He was interrupted at length by Bertram. "Well, uncle?" asked the young man with unrestrained emotion.

"The theft has been committed by some one in this bank; so the detective gives out, and so we are called upon to believe. _Who_ the man is who has caused us all this misery, neither he, nor you, nor I, nor any one, is likely to very soon determine. Meantime--"

"Well?" cried Bertram anxiously, after a moment of suspense.

"Meantime, courage!" his uncle resumed with forced cheerfulness.

But as he was leaving the bank he came up to Bertram, and laying his hand on his shoulder, quietly said:

"I want you to go immediately to my house upon leaving here. I may not be back till midnight, and Miss Fairchild may need the comfort of your presence. Will you do it, Bertram?"

"Uncle! I--"

"Hus.h.!.+ you will comfort me best by doing what I ask. May I rely upon you?"

"Always."

"That is enough."

And with just a final look, the two gentlemen parted, and the shadow which had rested all day upon the bank, deepened over Bertram's head like a pall.

It was not lifted by the sight of Hopgood stealing a few minutes later towards the door by which his uncle had departed, his face pale, and his eyes fixed in a stare, that bespoke some deep and moving determination.

x.x.xVIII.

BLUE-BEARD'S CHAMBER.

"Present fears Are less than horrible imaginings."

--MACBETH.

Clarence Ensign was not surprised at the refusal he received from Paula.

He had realized from the first that the love of this beautiful woman would be difficult to obtain, even if no rival with more powerful inducements than his own, should chance to cross his path. She was one who could be won to give friends.h.i.+p, consideration, and sympathy without stint; but from the very fact that she could so easily be induced to grant these, he foresaw the improbability, or at least the difficulty of enticing her to yield more. A woman whose hand warms towards the other s.e.x in ready friends.h.i.+p, is the last to succ.u.mb to the entreaties of love. The circle of her sympathies is so large, the man must do well, who of all his s.e.x, pierces to the sacred centre. The appearance of Mr.

Sylvester on the scene, settled his fate, or so he believed; but he was too much in earnest to yield his hopes without another effort; so upon the afternoon of this eventful day, he called upon Paula.

The first glimpse he obtained of her countenance, convinced him that he was indeed too late. Not for him that anxious pallor, giving way to a rosy tinge at the least sound in the streets without. Not for him that wandering glance, burning with questions to which nothing seemed able to grant reply. The very smile with which she greeted him, was a blow; it was so forgetful of the motive that had brought him there.

"Miss Fairchild," he stammered, with a generous impulse to save her unnecessary pain, "you have rejected my offer and settled my doom; but let me believe that I have not lost your regard, or that hold upon your friends.h.i.+p which it has. .h.i.therto been my pleasure to enjoy."

She woke at once to a realization of his position. "Oh Mr. Ensign," she murmured, "can you doubt my regard or the truth of my friends.h.i.+p? It is for me to doubt; I have caused you such pain, and as you may think, so ruthlessly and with such lack of consideration. I have been peculiarly placed," she blus.h.i.+ngly proceeded. "A woman does not always know her own heart, or if she does, sometimes hesitates to yield to its secret impulses. I have led you astray these last few weeks, but I first went astray myself. The real path in which I ought to tread, was only last night revealed to me. I can say no more, Mr. Ensign."

"Nor is it necessary," replied he. "You have chosen the better path, and the better man. May life abound in joys for you, Miss Fairchild."

She drew herself up and her hand went involuntarily to her heart. "It is not joy I seek," said she, "but--"