Carmen's Messenger. Harold Bindloss
can talk straight," Hulton resumed. "I guess I won't be shocked."
"Very well. I did find him disturbed once or twice. Perhaps you knew he had some difficulties in Paris."
"I knew about the girl," Hulton answered grimly. "I found that out not long since; she was a clever adventuress. But I don't know where Fred got the money he sent her. Did you lend it him?"
"I lent him some," Featherstone admitted, hesitatingly. "He told me afterwards she had promised to make no further claim, and I understand she kept her word."
Hulton turned to the treasurer. "You will see Mr. Featherstone about this to-morrow. I've cleared up another point; Fred was not being urged to send more money." Then he asked Foster: "Do you know if he had any other dangerous friends?"
"There was Daly. They were friends, in a way, and I wouldn't trust the fellow. Still, I don't know how far his influence went, and imagine Fred hadn't much to do with him for some months. Besides, Daly wasn't at the Crossing when——"
Hulton said nothing for the next few moments and Foster mused. Fred Hulton had been very likable, in spite of certain weaknesses, and he thought it cost his father something to talk about him as he did. Hulton, however, seldom showed what he felt and would, no doubt, take the line he thought best with a stoic disregard of the pain it might cause. He rested his elbow on the table, as if he were tired, and sat very quiet with his chin on his hand, until he asked Featherstone:
"Why did you lend Fred the money he sent the girl?"
"For one thing, because he was my friend," Featherstone answered with a flush. "Then I knew into what 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 replied.
Hulton pondered, knitting his brows, before he said, "Since you thought the man was Jordan, you wouldn't know him again."
"No; he was about Jordan's height and build, but I only saw his figure.
It showed dark and rather indistinct against the light."
"Well," said Hulton, "you see the importance of this. We have something to go upon; a stranger was in the factory." Then he got up with a look of keen relief in his worn face. "I thank you and your partner; you have given me hope. Some day all who knew my boy will believe what you believe. Now I have something to say to Percival, and then he must help me home to bed."
He shook hands with them and let them go. They left the factory in silence, but as they crossed the yard Foster remarked: "I'm sorry for Hulton. For all his quietness, he takes the thing very hard."
"I imagine the fellow who shot Fred Hulton will need your pity most," Featherstone replied. "The old man will run him down with the determination and energy that helped him to build up his business. Money with brains behind it is a power, but I wouldn't like Hulton on my track if he hadn't a cent. There's something relentless about the man." He paused and resumed: "Well, he has a clew. It's curious I didn't think of mentioning before that I spoke to the watchman, but I thought the fellow was Jordan. I wonder how the thief will get the bonds across to Europe."
"There would be some danger in carrying them; anyhow, he'd imagine so, although it looks as if Hulton doesn't mean to tell the police much just yet. Of course, there's the mail, but the thief might be afraid to post the papers."
Featherstone nodded. "I think it's in Hulton's favor that he'll be satisfied with one of the private detective agencies to begin with, while the man he's