simpering damsels, who surreptitiously chewed gum and craned away giggling when he had jestingly tried to embrace them. But this tempestuous girl——!
All that morning she sat among the spectators in the court-room listening so attentively to the proceedings that when the hour for adjournment came she was tired out. Instead, therefore, of going to Pontin’s crowded, smoky lunch-room, Hugh took her for a bowl of chop suey and a reviving cup of tea to a quiet little Chinese restaurant in Doyers Street, where they were, fortunately, the only customers, and afterward led her afoot through the mazes of Chatham Square and Mulberry Bend, showed her where the “Tea Water” pump had stood, the old “Kissing Bridge” on the Boston Turnpike, and the former boundaries of the “Collect Pond.” She was quite different that afternoon, interested but passive, for what she had seen in the court-rooms within the past twenty-four hours had been a severe strain upon her sensibilities. Those poor, poor people! And, naturally enough, her interest was far keener in Hugh himself than in what he showed her. What a boy! How eager he was! He got almost as excited over the precise location of the “Tea Water” as he had over Renig!
It was nearly four o’clock before they found themselves in front of the office of Hoyle & O’Hara again. Her motor had been waiting there since three. Quirk was on the steps, looking anxiously up and down Franklin Street, and as Hugh opened the door of the motor he hastily descended.
“Mr. Hoyle wants to see you at once!” he said. “I’ve been everywhere for you.”
Moira, on the point of getting in, turned.
“But I thought you were coming home to have tea with me!”
“I wish I could, but duty calls!” Hugh answered, his mind reverting to the episode of the evening before.
“But I want you!” she cried. “Send word to Mr. Hoyle that you’re engaged!”
“Seriously, I mustn’t. It’s been a wonderful day for me! Promise to come again!”
He looked very handsome, very compelling, as he stood there in the dusk, hat in hand.
“I want you—now!” She drew him toward her with her eyes as she had that morning in his office. Then her lips parted in an unasked question as she shifted her glance over his shoulder. A woman was coming down the steps behind—a woman in a bedraggled picture hat, with a soiled chinchilla boa about her narrow shoulders. Hugh instinctively stepped back. Eileen Clayton stood face to face with her daughter. Every drop of blood in her body was crying out to the girl in an agony of yearning. For an instant she hesitated, then with a supreme effort turned up the street. Moira looked after her compassionately.
“That is the same woman I saw yesterday afternoon. Poor creature! Do you know who she is?”
Hugh shook his head. The haunted expression on the woman’s face had depressed him. Moira got into the motor without referring again to tea. The electric current which all day had flowed between her and Hugh had been broken by the interposition of another and, for the time being, more powerful one.
“Good night!” he said. “Don’t forget to come soon!”
“Good night!” she replied, but the look on her face had nothing to do with him.
There were two persons in Hoyle’s office—the lawyer, who sat with his back to the light between the windows, and the wolfish-looking man in a grey suit, opposite him. The blaze of glory reflected from Mulcahy’s fence made the room seem dark. A grey cat was picking her way between the barbs on the top of the fence. Hoyle gave him a grey cat-like smile.
“Mr. Kranich—Mr. Dillon,” he said, but it was as though he had not spoken.
The wolfish man stretched his mouth into an exaggerated grin and immediately let it snap back again. Hugh swung his chair so that the light should not hit him in the eyes. A discoloured paper bag had caught on the bare branches of Mulcahy’s plane-tree.
“Case—look after it,” murmured Mr. Hoyle, in a vocal undercurrent. In the half light he looked like the pink baby advertising some infant food. Mr. Kranich lifted a fat brief-bag to his knees.
“It’s a clear case of forgery in the third, grand larceny, and criminal conspiracy against one of the richest corporations in the city—a walkover! We’ve got ’em cold!” He fished out a dossier in blue covers. “We’ve had our accountants on it now for nearly two years—ever since the reorganization. They ran into a raft of stuff none of us even suspected!”
“Who’s ‘we’?” inquired Hugh.
“The parties I represent.”
“What parties?”
“That I can’t disclose. Important people! We’re going to retain your firm to represent us in the police court, subpœna their books, and play hell with ’em generally. We’ll have the press solid behind us. But”—and he looked hard at Hugh—“you can’t go into a thing like this half-cock! It’s a big job!”
“I should think you might persuade District Attorney Farley to lay the matter before the grand jury in the first instance—if it’s as important as all that!” commented Hugh.
“But that’s not our game. We don’t want an indictment—at least, not yet. What we want to do is to expose their corrupt practices—show ’em up!”
“Dillon’s your man! He’ll rip ’em up the back proper for you!” said Hoyle.
“Well, there’s money in it, all sorts of ways, if you understand me,” remarked Kranich significantly. “They’re capitalized at fifteen millions. Their common stock is selling around ninety.”
“And if this goes through—?” murmured Hoyle.
“It won’t sell above nine! We all ought to make our everlasting fortunes!”
Hugh could hardly credit his ears. Kranich was baldly proposing blackmail!
“Who are these miscreants?” he inquired curiously.
“A concern known as ‘The Associated Architects and Builders.’” Kranich awaited the effect of his disclosure.
“You mean Devens’ company?”
“Yes—one of them. The other, the J. S. Burke Company, is involved too. We’ve got ’em both.”
Hugh studied his partner’s face. It was as expressionless as a pan of milk. The grey cat was feeling her way toward the window. Was it conceivable that Hoyle was contemplating taking a case against his own client? It was unthinkable! But, if not, what could he be up to? Was he trying to trick Kranich into disclosing his hand? Dirty business, at any rate! In no event could he participate in a criminal prosecution against Moira’s father. These people were his friends!
“I’d like to think this matter over,” he said slowly.
“Take all the time you want. There’s no great hurry. Only this looks like a fairly propitious moment for picking the plums. Glance this over and call me up when you’re ready.” Kranich offered Hugh the blue dossier. “The whole thing’s right there.”
“You better hang on to it for the present. I shan’t have time to look at it—I wouldn’t leave it lying around if I were you.”
