The Substitute Prisoner | Page 8

he hasn't been here this morning," the office boy said.
"Then give me Mr. Beard, his secretary."
"He hasn't been here, either."
She hung up the receiver and turned a bewildered countenance to her
brother.
"There is something singular about Herbert's absence from home and
his failure to appear at the office," she said. "I don't know why I should
think so--but I do."
"It's impossible for your husband to have reached the city," Ward

answered reassuringly. "He won't get there for twenty-five minutes and
the chances are he'll stop in various saloons before he tries to find
Whitmore. I'll have my car here in ten minutes and we'll proceed at
once to Whitmore's office and wait for him. Now hurry and get
dressed."
Ward paced the drawing-room while waiting for his sister to finish her
toilet. He had telephoned for his automobile and heard the car draw up
at the gate. In the presence of Mrs. Collins and her husband, Ward had
maintained an unruffled demeanor; now that he was alone his face
assumed a tense, rigid look, as though he were staring at an apparition.
Something weighed heavily on his mind and it was plain that he was
beset by uncertainty. He continued to walk up and down the room with
short, nervous strides, until the swish of skirts at the head of the stairs
brought him to an abrupt halt at the doorway. The arm which he
extended to his sister, as he escorted her to the waiting automobile
trembled violently. A cold sweat moistened his face.
"Sis," he said, when the machine had started, "I'm going to tell you
something. Things are headed for a great crisis and it is necessary that
you should know. It's going to shock you--"
He paused, eyeing her quizzically. But her mind, occupied with the
safety of the man she loved, understood but vaguely what he was
saying.
The brother took advantage of her preoccupation to gather additional
courage for the communication which he had to impart. He saw clearly
that she was resolved to discard her husband, that it would be futile to
combat her determination. Other occasions there had been, many of
them, when he had averted a final parting between them. But there had
never been another man involved.
"Grace, listen to me!" He placed one hand on her wrist. "We are both in
a terrible predicament, out of which my marriage may lift us. If you do
anything that endangers the marriage, if my engagement should be
broken,--we are both ruined."

"What do you mean?" A puzzled look appeared in her face.
"I didn't tell you before, because I thought it would never be necessary
to do so," he went on, growing more nervous and uneasy. "But little by
little I put all our money into the South American Developing
Company which I promoted, and the enterprise is a failure. Moreover, I
induced most of the clients of the bank to invest--I grow sick every
time I contemplate what's going to happen when they learn that their
money is lost. But there was nothing dishonest, sis--nothing dishonest!"
The news appeared to have no visible effect upon her. Something more
important than money, more alarming than the ruin which his words
implied, distracted her with a vague foreboding of impending evil. She
made no reply to her brother, but sat rigid, eyes staring vacantly ahead,
her hands tightly clasped beneath the heavy fur rug that protected the
lower part of her body.
The automobile sped on, smoothly as though running on steel rails. A
brisk wind beat against the glass shield and was deflected, leaving only
light currents of air to brush the faces of the occupants of the car.
Between Ward and his sister a long silence ensued.
It was broken by the brother.
"Don't you understand the position we're in?" he inquired.
"I understand," she replied absently.
"And don't you care?"
"Nothing matters now, except Herbert."
For weeks the brother had dreaded the moment when he should be
compelled to confess the loss of their fortune. Now, finding that she
took it coolly, even indifferently, he decided to go through with it.
"But I haven't finished--you don't know all," he pursued desperately.
"The situation is aggravated by your resolve to leave your husband. All

his money, save the small income from the trust fund established by his
mother, is likewise sunk in the enterprise. I induced him to invest, I'm
really responsible for the predicament in which he'll find himself. Don't
you see," he added pleadingly, "if you leave him now it will take on the
aspect of desertion. People will say that your brother ruined him and
then you threw him over. While if you wait until after my marriage, I
shall be in a position to