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Updated: June 28, 2025
In answer to his summons, a tall, dignified, keen-eyed elderly man responded a man who struck considerable awe to Kendale's guilty heart. He said to himself that he wished to the Lord he knew this man's name to be able to call him by it but of course it couldn't be helped.
And again he was thoroughly deceived. "It's all over with him," he muttered, "and Kendale's secret is safe between him and me, and he'll have to pay me handsomely to keep it; that's certain." On the threshold he halted. "Dead men tell no tales," he muttered, "and he would be past all recognition by the time any one came across him in this isolated spot.
He knew that Clinton Kendale would follow out his line of action, keeping him there as long as it was necessary that is, until he learned all the secrets that he was so anxious to ascertain then he would put him out of the way with as little compunction as he would a dog. He might expect little mercy at Kendale's hands, when two fortunes and a beautiful young girl hung in the balance.
In that instant Lester Armstrong slipped on the icy pavement, and Kendale, bending quickly over him, exclaimed: "He has broken his neck! He is dying. He won't last five minutes!" A gasp of horror broke from Kendale's lips. Yes, Lester Armstrong was fatally injured, he could see that. Glancing up, he saw that they were within a few doors of his lodgings.
Those who knew Lester Armstrong said the great fortune which had come to him would not spoil him. There was one who read this account with amazed eyes, and that was Halloran. "Great God!" he muttered, his hands shaking, his teeth chattering. "Kendale told me that Armstrong was taken to the hospital in a precarious condition and died there." He made all haste to Kendale's lodgings.
For an instant a black, malignant scowl swept over Kendale's face, but after a moment's deep thought he turned on his heel again, laughing immoderately as he stepped to the door and held a low conversation with the two men who were still in the outer apartment, and in a trice they had joined Kendale, one of them still wearing the black mask which he had used the night before.
"It is a great scheme, if you are sure that you can carry it through," said Halloran, breathing hard and eying his companion fixedly. "Trust that to me," replied Kendale, jumping up and walking the floor to and fro excitedly. It was midnight when Halloran left Kendale's apartments.
He hadn't a relative on earth, save his handsome, debonair cousin, who never sought him out save when he wanted to borrow money of him. Clint Kendale's salary was fifty dollars per week, but that did not go far toward paying his bills at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, keeping a fast horse and giving wine suppers. In his early youth he had begun the pace he was now going.
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