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But Droom did not go to David Cable. He went to James Bansemer with the news. James Bansemer's law and loan offices were not far from the river and, it is sufficient to say, not much farther from State Street. He who knows Chicago well cannot miss the location more than three blocks, either way, if he takes City Hall as a focal point.
There was a hungry look in his eyes as he glanced from time to time at the face of the boy who had his mother's unforgettable eyes. A messenger brought Mrs. Cable's note to Bansemer soon after his arrival at the office. He and Elias Droom were in the back office when the boy came. They had been discussing the contents of a letter that came in the early mail.
Droom's description of the lady certainly did not correspond to what his memory recalled. Investigation, however, assured him that the Cables in the mansion near the lake were the people he had known in New York. Bansemer took no one into his confidence, not even Droom.
While the policeman was listening to the voluble young eye-witnesses, Droom stood aloof, puzzling himself vainly in the effort to solve an inside mystery. He had been ready, a few minutes before, to curse himself for pulling the woman out of the water, but now, as the belief grew stronger within him that her assailant was not James Bansemer, his viewpoint changed.
When the baby boy was born to them, and she suffered more and more from the unkindness of privation, James Bansemer, by nature an aggressor, threw off restraint and plunged into the traffic that soon made him infamously successful. She died, however, before the taint of his duplicity touched her, and he, even in his grief, felt thankful that she never was to know the truth.
She lived in fear that they would spring upon her as if from the dark and that she would be powerless to combat them. Something stronger than words or even intuition told her that James Bansemer was not to be turned aside by sentiment.
Cable did not hear the man, for, as he opened his lips to cry out his own guilt, a thought formed in his brain that almost staggered him with its cunning savagery. Why not let the penalty fall on James Bansemer? She had gone out to meet him! If she had not destroyed the note, it would hang James Bansemer, and James Bansemer was worse than a murderer.
His thin coat collar was buttoned close about his neck; his gloveless hands were wet and cold from the mist. As he stopped at the foot of the stone steps a man came hurrying along, glancing at the house numbers as he approached. "Do you know whether this is David Cable's house?" he asked. Bansemer saw that he was a young man and an eager one. "I think it is."
"He's upstairs in his den. I'll go to mother. I know she'll be happy oh, so happy." Bansemer found David Cable in his room upstairs his smoking and thinking room, as he called it. "Come in, Graydon; don't stop to knock. How are you? Cigarette? Take a cigar, then. Bad night outside, isn't it?" "Is it?
By God, you shall not say a word against my wife! I'll brain you with this weight! You " "I have not said a word against her nor against your son. For her and for him I have the deepest respect. I am trying to protect the memory of one and the future of the other. Bansemer, I believe that I drove you out of New York. You escaped without exposure simply because the witnesses lost their nerve.
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