Carmens Messenger | Page 6

straits the need of money can drive a young man. I got into trouble myself some years ago."
Hulton nodded. "Thank you. You helped him out. You have no ground to think he was embarrassed by the need of money on the night he died?"
"I feel sure he was not. He kept me some time talking cheerfully about a hunting trip we meant to make."
"Well," said Hulton quietly, "you're going to be surprised now. I did not give my evidence as frankly as you claim to have done, but kept something back. Mr. Percival was away for two or three weeks, and Fred was the only person besides myself who knew the combination that opens the safe. On the morning after we found him dead I examined the safe. A number of bonds and a wad of small bills for wages had gone. It was significant that Percival was due back next day."
Featherstone started, but his face was hot with scornful anger.
"That had no significance! I'd as soon suspect myself or my partner of stealing the bonds, but the safe's being open throws a new light upon the thing. Somebody you haven't thought of yet knew or found out the combination."
"Then, in face of what you have heard, you do not believe my son fired the shot that took his life?"
"No, sir," said Featherstone, with quiet earnestness. "I never thought it, and it is impossible to believe it now."
"My partner's opinion's mine," Foster broke in. Hulton looked from one to the other and a curious steely glitter came into his eyes. It hinted at a pitiless, unchangeable purpose, and bracing himself with an effort he clenched his fist.
"Nor do I believe it! If necessary, I'll let my business and factory go and spend the last dollar I've got to find the man who killed my boy."
Next moment he sank limply back in his chair, as if the strain and vindictive emotion, reacting on his physical weakness, had overcome him, and there was silence until he recovered. Foster felt it something of a relief that the man's icy self-control had broken down.
"Very well," Hulton resumed in a shaky voice. "I brought you here because you knew my son and I wanted your support. Then I meant to convince Percival, whose help I may need to clear the boy's good name. We'll let that go and try to be practical."
"Were the bonds negotiable?" Foster asked. "Could they be easily sold?"
Percival, who was about fifty years of age and had a reserved manner, answered: "Some were bearer bonds, and, if the thief acted quickly, would be as good as cash. Most, however, were registered stock, and it is probable that he would be afraid to sell them in Canada or America. The transfers would require to be forged."
"What about Europe?"
"That is where the danger lies. If he had clever confederates, a large part of the value of the bonds could be borrowed from a bank, or they might be sold to unsuspecting buyers on a French or German bourse."
"But this would depend on the publicity you gave their theft."
"Exactly," Percival agreed with some dryness. "I have been trying to make Mr. Hulton recognize it."
Hulton's tense look softened and he smiled. "Percival seems to have forgotten that I am a business man. At the inquiry I shirked my duty by keeping something back, and now he expects me to brand my son's good name. The money must go. In a sense, it is a trifling loss."
"At last, you put me wise," said Percival. "But to prove that Fred was innocent you must find the thief."
"That's so. It must be done with skill and tact by the best New York private investigation man that I can hire. The job's too delicate for the regular police."
Featherstone, who had been sitting thoughtfully silent, looked up. "Perhaps it's lucky the wage clerk went into the treasurer's office after I left, though I spoke to the watchman, Jordan, as I went out."
"No," said Percival sharply. "It wasn't Jordan's week on night-guard."
There was silence for a moment, and then Hulton asked: "Where did you meet the man you thought was Jordan? Did he answer you?"
"He was going along the ground-floor passage in front of me, and the only light was in the pay-office at the end. He stood in the doorway as I passed and I said, 'It's a cold night, Tom.' I'd gone a few yards when he answered, 'It will be colder soon.'"
"Then as you passed the door he must have seen your face, though you could not see his," said Hulton, who turned to Percival. "Clark was on night-guard and his name's not Tom. Where was he when Mr. Featherstone left?"
"In the lathe-room at the other end of the building. The punch in the check-clock shows it," Percival