The Heads of Cerberus | Page 6

at last, and cigars lighted, the two
men adjourned to the library and settled themselves to talk things out.
"You've been in Ireland, you say--" began Drayton, but the other
interrupted with raised hand.
"Let that wait. Do you not guess that I'm fair burning up with curiosity?
There, there, when you look like that you make me want to cry, you do!
Tell me the name of the scoundrel that's been driving you and I'll-I'll
obliterate him. But don't act like the world was all black and you at
your own wake. Sure, there's no trouble in life that's worth it! Now,
what's wrong?"
Drayton smiled in spite of himself. The big man's good humor was too
infectious for resistance. His face, however, soon fell again into the
tragic lines drawn there by recent events.
"It can be told quickly," he began. "You know we had a very fair legal
practice, Simon Warren and I. Up there in the woods I'm afraid I talked
a lot about myself, so I don't need to tell you of the early struggles of a
couple of cub lawyers. It was Warren, though, who made us what we
were. Poor Warren! He had married just before the crash, and his
young wife died three days after Simon was sentenced to a ten-year
term in the penitentiary."
"So? And what did your partner do to deserve all that?"
"That is the story. We had built up a good clientele among the
Cincinnati real-estate men and contractors. Simon specialized on
contracts, and I on the real-estate end. We had a pretty fair reputation
for success, too.
"Then Warren found out a thing about Interstate General Merchandise

which would have put at least five men behind the bars. Unluckily for
us they were big men. Too big for us small fry to tackle, though we
didn't quite realize that. They tried to settle it amicably by buying us
over. We were just the pair they were looking for, they said. And both
Warren and I could have cleared over twenty-five thousand a year at
the work they offered.
"Well, we'd have liked the money, of course--who wouldn't?--but not
enough to take it as blackmail. Simon stuck to his guns and laid the
affair before the district attorney. Before we could clinch the matter,
Interstate Merchandise came down on us like a triphammer on a
soft-boiled egg.
"Oh, yes, they framed us. They got Simon with faked papers on a deal
he wouldn't have touched with a ten-foot pair of tongs. Of course we
went down together. The disgrace killed his wife. Three weeks ago
Simon died in prison of tuberculosis. That or a broken heart--
"And I--well, you see me here. I got off without a jail term. But I'd
been disbarred for illegal practice, and what money I had was all gone
in the fight. After that--I don't know if it was for revenge or that they
were still afraid of me, but Terry, those Interstate devils hounded me
out of one job after another--broke me--drove me clean out of life as I
knew it.
"Yesterday I landed here in Philadelphia without a cent in my pockets,
hungry and with no hope or faith left in anything. Last night I said, 'So
be it! They have killed Simon, and they will not let me live as an honest
man. But, by God, I'll live!' And that's the way criminals are created.
I've learned it."
Drayton ended with a catch in his voice. His clear, honest eyes were
bright with the memory of that desperate resolve, so utterly alien to his
nature, and his long, sensitive fingers opened and closed spasmodically.
Then Trenmore did a strangely heartless thing. Having stared at his
friend for a moment, he threw back his head and laughed--laughed in a
great Olympian peal of merriment that rang through the silent house.

Drayton sprang to his feet. "By heavens, Terry, I wish I could see the
joke! But I'm damned if there's anything funny about what I've been
through!"
As abruptly as he had begun, his host stopped laughing and forced his
face into solemnity. But his blue eyes still twinkled dangerously.
"Sit down--sit down, man, and forgive me for a fool of an Irishman!
Should you kill me right here for laughing, I'd not be blaming you and
my heart aching this minute the way I can't wait to get at the crooks
that have ruined you, and as soon as may be we'll go back to your home,
you and I, and see what there is to be done.
"But, sure you're the most original criminal that ever tried to rob a man!
You get in, you locate the box--did you call it a box, Bobby?--all in
good form. And, by the