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Bromfield's valet stepped into the room. "Mr. and Miss Whitford to see you, sir." Annie Millikan nodded her wise little head. "Jerry's gonna frame him if he can. He's laid the wires for it. That's a lead pipe." "Sure," agreed Muldoon. "I'll bet he's been busy all night fixin' up his story. Some poor divvies he'll bully-rag into swearin' lies an' others he'll buy.
It did more. It hardened a fugitive impulse to a resolution. Bromfield was fair game for him. It was a little after eleven o'clock next morning when the cattleman walked into an apartment house for bachelors, took the elevator, and rang the bell at Bromfield's door. Clarendon, fresh from the hands of his valet, said he was glad to see Lindsay, but did not look it.
"That's our business, sir." "I got a reason for asking. She is or she ain't. Which is it?" "We'll not discuss my daughter's affairs." "All right, since you're so damned particular. We'll discuss Bromfield's. I warned him to keep his mouth shut or he'd get into trouble." "He was released from prison this afternoon." "Did I say anything about prison?" Durand asked.
Bromfield's, the greater and the lesser shops on Washington and School streets. It was quite a risk now ordering things from abroad, vessels were interfered with so much. But there were China silks and Canton crape, a beautiful material, and French and English goods that escaped the enemy; so if you had the money you could find enough for an extensive wedding outfit.
"That'd be a thousand and fifty you had given me, wouldn't it?" returned Lindsay gayly. Tears of vexation stood in Bromfield's eyes. "All right. Let me go. I'll be fair to Whitford and arrange a deal with him." "Get the stockholders who're with you on the 'phone and tell 'em to vote their stock as Whitford thinks best. Get Whitford and tell him the fight's off." "If I do, will you let me go?"
The crook turned derisive eyes on the victim he was torturing. Certainly the society man did not look a picture of confidence. The shadow of a heavy fear hung over him. The telephone rang. Bromfield's trembling fingers picked up the transmitter. He listened a moment, then turned it over to Beatrice. "For you." Her part of the conversation was limited.
It was the big business venture of his life and he took a strong personal interest in running it. Now, because of Bromfield's intention to use for his own advantage the proxies made out in his name, he was likely to lose control. With Bromfield in charge the property might be wrecked before he could be ousted. "Dad's worrying," Beatrice told Lindsay. "He's afraid he'll lose control of the mine.
His objections prevailed, and upon the afternoon of the day after our arrival Sam was ready, and in a gale of wind we ran down on the ice to Tom Bromfield's cabin at Tilt Cove, that we might be ready to make an early start for Pottle's Bay the following morning, as the whole day would be needed to cross the neck of land to Pottle's Bay and the neatest shelter beyond.
But to leave him, an innocent man, to go to his death because he was too chivalrous to betray his partner in an adventure this was something that even Bromfield's atrophied conscience revolted at. Clay was standing by him, according to Durand's story. The news of it lifted a weight from his soul. But it left him too under a stronger moral obligation to step out and face the music.
His guest continued to grin over the good stories of the old horse-trader. When he closed the book at last, he had finished it. His watch told him that it was twenty minutes to five. Bromfield's man was at the door trying to get in. He met Lindsay going out. "No, I can't stay to tea to-day, Mr. Bromfield," the Arizonan was saying, a gleam of mirth in his eyes. "No use urging me.
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