The Way of the Strong Part 87

"I think not--yet, sir."

Frank sighed, too. His relief was lest the news should have been bad.

His eyes sought Phyllis's.

Then he turned again to the man.

"You said--at once?"

"Yes, sir. Mr. Hendrie was emphatic on the point."

Phyllis looked up into her lover's face.

"You best hurry, Frank."

"Yes."

Frank hurried away, leaving the man to return to the house at his leisure.

Daylight was rapidly dying. Already the remoter corners of the library were lost in growing shadows. Outside the rosy sunset had chilled to a pale yellow, above which a faint twinkle of stars was already visible.

Hendrie was sitting astride a chair. Its back was turned, and his folded arms were resting upon it. His great, square chin was thrust forward supported upon them.

His eyes were gloomy, and coldly brooding as they surveyed the other two occupants of the room. Austin Leyburn was seated with his back to the window, and his face was lost in the shadow. A few yards away from his charge sat Angus Moraine. His watchful eyes, full of a hatred he made no attempt to conceal, were steadily fixed upon the other's shadowed features.

A painful, straining silence reigned in the room. There was nothing more to be said between these three until the arrival of the man whom Hendrie had dispatched a servant in search of.

Presently the door opened. Hendrie half turned his head. Leyburn's eyes lifted in the direction. Only Angus remained indifferent to the arrival. He knew that his reign in charge of his prisoner was over, and the thought was as gall and wormwood to him.

Frank glanced in turn at the three figures. Then he approached his host.

"You wished to see me, Mr. Hendrie."

The millionaire raised his head and nodded.

"Yes, boy," he said, and Leyburn's eyes suddenly lit with a venom that seemed to fit with their narrow setting.

Now Hendrie seemed in no hurry to proceed. He turned about leisurely, and reached over to his cigar cabinet. He selected a cigar with some care, smelled it, and rolled it lightly between finger and thumb. Then he pushed the cabinet along the desk in Frank's direction.

"Smoke?" he said, and bit off the end of his own cigar.

Frank shook his head.

"I'd rather smoke my pipe," he said simply.

Hendrie's eyes became less cold. He nodded.

"Sit--anyway," he said, in his brief, almost brusque fashion.

Frank obeyed, and the other lit his cigar.

When it was burning satisfactorily, he turned thoughtful eyes on Frank, who was in the act of lighting his pipe.

"Say," he began, evidently thinking hard, "Hinkling's sent word he'll be along in a while. Couldn't just say how long. Seems to me there's got to be some talk in this room--before he comes. This feller here, Austin Leyburn, or Tug, as I've always known him, is full to the brim with stuff he's crazy to hand out to the--general public. It's mostly about me. You see, we knew each other well, some twenty years ago. He sort of thinks he knows a heap about me I'd hate to hand on to anybody else, specially you--and Mrs. Hendrie. I've been trying to convince him this while back I'm just yearning for you both to hear all he's got to tell, but I want to be around so I know he tells it right. You see, it's important he tells it right. Guess my being around don't seem to suit him, and he's kicking. Says he'll tell it when he wants, and in his own way. Not as I want, and at my time. He says he's going to raise trouble all around for us--when he gets away. I've told him he can do what in h.e.l.l he likes--when he gets away. Meanwhile, you are going to hear all he wants you to hear right now. If he won't tell you in front of me as I want him to, then I'll tell it you in front of him as he don't want me to. If I hide anything or forget anything, or tell it wrong, it's up to him to correct me, same as I should correct him.

Whether he likes it or not, that story's going to be told right here and now."

There was no mistaking Alexander Hendrie's manner. Frank knew that a crisis in the man's life had arrived, perhaps a crisis in the lives of all those present. He made no attempt to reply. He knew that the millionaire's words were the preliminary to a skirmish in which he had no part beyond that of an onlooker.

Hendrie turned to Leyburn.

"You get me?" he demanded. "You can choose to tell--or not. I don't care a curse which you do."

Leyburn suddenly cleared his throat. He sat forward in his chair and even in the failing light it was plain--the furious flashing of his eyes. Angus lost no detail of any purpose, other than to talk, in his prisoner. He sat absolutely alert.

"Yes," Leyburn suddenly cried out. "I'll tell the story to this--this cur of a boy of yours, d.a.m.n you." Then he flung out an arm, pointing at the man astride his chair, smoking in his steady, unruffled fashion.

"See that man," he cried, with added fury, addressing himself to Frank.

"See that low-down thief? See him, a cur who can even rob the dead?

That's your father!"

It was a terrible moment. It was a moment so painful that no added word could have intensified its drama.

Nor was any word forthcoming. Hendrie smoked on. His face was calm, his balance of restraint was quite undisturbed before the hideous accusation.

One swift glance of Frank's blue eyes shot in his father's direction, but, otherwise, he, too, continued to smoke his pipe without a sign. He knew it was not for him to speak--yet. Angus silently gritted his teeth. His astonishment could not be doubted. Leyburn alone seemed to be affected. He had lashed himself to a super-heat by his own words.

"Say," he cried, still addressing himself to Frank. "You young skunk, I can thank you for all this--this that's happened here. I find you, a jail-bird, coming straight from the penitentiary, and I take you, make a man of you, and this--this is the way you repay me. But I might have known it would be. If ever there was a son of a rotten father, you are he. The three of you've got me here. You reckon I'm in your power.

Guess none of you'd stop at murder, if it suited you. I tell you unless you do it, and do it quick, there's a long road ahead of us all, and we'll travel it together, and I'll fight you every inch of the way."

Hendrie removed his cigar from between his lips.

"The boy's waiting for your yarn. The other'll keep for--later."

"Yes, you're right, Leo. Oh, you're right," Leyburn retorted pa.s.sionately. "It'll keep till later. Meanwhile I'll get on with the story." He turned again to Frank. "You're this man's b.a.s.t.a.r.d. You understand--his b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Twenty years ago we were on the Yukon together----"

"Not together. We were both there," corrected Hendrie.

"Yes, we were both there. You were living with your paramour--the woman Audie--this fellow's mother. I was with my partner, Charlie. He was sick to death. We'd got a big wad of gold from the creek, and because Charlie was sick----"

"And you'd got enough gold to suit your purposes," put in Hendrie quietly.

"We decided to return to civilization." Leyburn went on, ignoring the interruption. "I hoped to get him cured."

"So you made him face the winter trail." Hendrie's addition was made quite without pa.s.sion.

"We set out down country with our dogs, and all our goods, and gold, and got held up by a blizzard. We were camped in a bluff. Charlie could not stand the weather. He got so weak we couldn't travel. Then before we struck camp he died. I didn't know he was dead, and I had gone to gather firewood. Meanwhile, this man and your mother made up their minds to return to civilization. He had a big wad of gold. You were to be born before winter was out, and your mother was scared to have you born up there. So she made this man bring her down. She reckoned he was honest, and would marry her. She reckoned like that because she was a woman," he added, with burning contempt.

He waited for Hendrie's comment, which came promptly.