Dangerous Ground Part 70

"Very well, sir."

Others were seated about the room. He nodded silently to these, and went over to one of the windows near the desk occupied by the man he had addressed as Sanford.

For a few moments he seemed engaged with something going on in the street below, then he moved a step nearer, and leaned over Sanford's desk.

"Find a pretext for coming to my room presently," he said in a low tone.

Then he took a careless survey of the letters and papers upon the desk, glanced out of the window once more, and went back to his den.

One or two of the loungers made some slight comment upon this quiet entrance and exit of their Chief.

But Sanford wrote on diligently for many minutes, folding and unfolding his letters and deeply absorbed in his task. Then something seemed to disturb him. He uttered an impatient syllable midway between a word and a grunt; read and re-read the contents of a sheet spread out before him; referred once and again to his book; and then, seemingly, gave it up, for he laid down his pen--at a less serious interruption, he would have stuck it behind his ear. He slid reluctantly off his stool, glanced once more over the troublesome sheet, and then, folding it carefully, carried it with a rueful face to the inner office.

Once within this apartment, the look of rueful reluctance vanished. He slipped the troublesome doc.u.ment into his breast-pocket, and smiled as he seated himself in the chair indicated by his superior.

"Sanford," began the latter, "I want to ask about your office regulations, rather your habits. Our boys do much of their letter writing there, eh?"

"They do some of it; yes sir."

"There is always stationery at the desk for their use?"

"Certainly, sir." Sanford's none too expressive face began to lengthen a trifle.

"Does any one not connected with the office, but who happens in upon some errand or some matter of business, ever find it convenient to write at the table or the desks?"

"I don't think any one ever did so, except in cases where the writing was done at our requests, or in some way in the interests of business."

"That is what I thought. Now, Sanford, our paper, that which is intended solely for business purposes and which has our letter head--is that accessible to any one in the office?"

"No, sir," said Sanford, a trifle coldly; "your orders were otherwise."

"Very good, Sanford. I am not about to find fault with you, my boy, but tell me if any one--any one connected with the office, I mean, who is there habitually, and is not supposed to need watching--could not one of our own people get possession of a sheet or two of our business tablets, if he tried?"

"If you mean our own fellows," said Sanford slowly, "I suppose there are half a dozen of our boys who could steal that paper from under my very nose, if they liked, even if I stood on guard. But no stranger has access to my desk, and there's no other way of getting it from _that_ office."

"Well," responded his Chief, "it's also the only way of getting it from mine. Nevertheless, Sanford, somebody has possessed himself of a sheet or two, and used it for fraudulent purposes."

Sanford stared, but said nothing.

"Now,"--the chief grew involuntarily more brisk and business-like--"we must clear this matter up. You can give me samples of the handwriting of every one of our men, can't you?"

"I suppose I can, sir, of one sort or another; letters, reports--"

"Samples of any sort will do, Sanford. Let me have them as soon as possible."

Sanford arose, hesitated, and then said:

"If you would trust me, sir, I might--but you have sent for Carnegie?"

"Yes; it's about this business. What were you going to say, Sanford?"

"I know all their hands so well, sir, I was about to offer my services, but--"

"It's a good idea; thank you, thank you. I think I'll give you both a chance at it. Now, bring me the specimens, Sanford. We will talk this over again."

In half an hour, Carnegie presented himself. He was a small, old man, with a shrewd face and keen, intelligent eye.

"I've got some work for you, Carnegie," began the Chief, waiving all ceremony. "It's of the kind you like, too."

"Ah!" Carnegie dropped his hat upon a chair, rubbed his hands softly together and smiled upon his patron, looking as if at that instant ready and anxious to pounce upon any piece of work that was "of the kind he liked."

"It's a forgery on this office," went on the Chief, as quietly as if he had said, it's an invitation to tea. "And you'll have a variety of handwritings to gloat over; Sanford is looking them up."

"Ah!" said Carnegie, and that was all. Some men could not have said more in a folio.

As Carnegie pa.s.sed out of the Chief's office, the boy, George, entered it. He had found Mr. Vernet, and that gentleman would present himself right away.

And he did, almost at the heels of his herald; scrupulously dressed, upright, handsome, and courteous as usual.

Perfectly aware as he was that his Chief had not summoned him there without a motive, and tolerably sure that this motive was out of the regular business routine, his countenance was as serene as if he were entering a ball-room, his manner just as calm and courtly.

"I hope I have not interfered with any man[oe]uvre of yours, Van," said the Chief, smiling as he proffered his hand.

"Not at all, sir. I was just in and preparing for an hour or two of rest." And Vernet pressed the outstretched hand. "I am glad of this opportunity, sir."

"The fact is--" began the Chief, after Vernet had ensconced himself in the chair opposite his own--"the fact is, I want to talk over this Englishman's business a little, in a confidential way."

"Yes?" The change that crossed Vernet's face was scarcely perceptible.

"You see, just between us, I have no report from Stanhope, and none from you. And I want, very much, to get some new idea on the subject, soon."

Vernet scanned his face for a moment, then:

"You have heard something," he said, withdrawing his gaze slowly.

The Chief laughed. This answer, put not as a question, but as a statement of a fact, pleased him.

"Yes," he said, "I have heard something. The Englishman is coming back.

I have a letter from him. It is somewhat mysterious, but it says that he is on his way here, accompanied by one John Ainsworth."

"John Ainsworth?"

"Supposed to be the father of the child mentioned in the advertis.e.m.e.nt from Australia,"

"Yes; I see."

"Well, I _don't_ see anything clearly, except this: These two men will come down upon us presently; they will want to hear something new--"

"Their affair is twenty years old; do they expect us to get to the bottom of it in five weeks?"