Bidding a hasty good morning to the elevator girl, Harry1 Kent, suit-case in hand, entered the cage and was carried up to the fourth floor of the Wilkins Building. Several business acquaintances stopped to chat with him as he walked down the corridor to his office, and it was fully2 fifteen minutes before he turned the knob of the door bearing the firm name—ROCHESTER AND KENT, ATTORNEYS—on its glass panel. As he stepped inside the anteroom which separated the two offices occupied respectively by him and his senior partner, Philip Rochester, a stranger rose from the clerk's desk.
“Yes, sir?” he asked interrogatively.
Kent eyed him in surprise. “Mr. Rochester here?” he inquired.
“No, sir. It am in charge of the office.”
“You are!” Kent's surprise increased. “I happen to be Mr. Kent, junior partner in this firm.”
“I beg your pardon, sir.” The dapper clerk bowed and hurrying to his desk took up a letter. “Mr. Rochester left this for you, Mr. Kent, before his departure last night.”
“His departure!” Kent deposited his suit-case on one of the chairs and tore open the envelope. The note was a scrawl3, which he had some difficulty in deciphering.
“Dear Kent,” it ran. “Am called out of town; will be back Saturday. Saunders gave me some of his cheek this afternoon, so I fired him. I engaged John Sylvester to fill his place, who comes highly recommended. He will report for work to-morrow. Ta-ta—PHIL.”
Kent thrust the note into his pocket and picked up his suit-case.
“Mr. Rochester states that he has engaged you,” he said. “Your references—?”
“Here, sir.” The clerk handed him a folded paper, and Kent ran his eyes down the sheet from the sentence: “To whom it may concern” to the signature, Clark Hildebrand. The statement spoke4 in high terms of John Sylvester, confidential5 clerk.
“I can refer you to my other employers, Mr. Kent,” Sylvester volunteered as the young lawyer stood regarding the paper. “If you, desire further information there is Mr. Clymer and—”
“No, Judge Hildebrand's recommendation is sufficient.” And at Kent's smile the clerk's anxious expression vanished. “Did Mr. Rochester give you any outline of the work?”
“Yes, sir; he told me to file the papers in the Hitchcock case, and attend to the morning correspondence.”
“Very good. Has any one called this morning?”
“No, sir. These letters were addressed to you personally, and I have not opened them,” Sylvester handed a neatly6 arranged package to Kent. “These,” indicating several letters lying open on his desk, “are to the firm.”
“Bring them to me in half an hour,” and Kent walked into his private office, carefully closing the door behind him. Opening his suit-case he took out his brief bag and laid it on the desk in front of him together with the package of letters. Instead of opening the letters immediately, he tilted8 back in his chair and regarded the opposite wall in deep thought. Philip Rochester could not have selected a worse time to absent himself; three important cases were on the calendar for immediate7 trial and much depended on the firm's successful handling of them. Kent swore softly under his breath; his last warning to Rochester, that he would dissolve their partnership9 if the older man continued to neglect his practice, had been given only a month before and upon Kent's return from eight months' service in the Judge Advocate General's Department in France. Apparently10 his warning had fallen on deaf ears and Rochester was indulging in another periodic spree, for so Kent concluded, recalling the unsteady penmanship of the note handed to him by the new clerk, John Sylvester.
Kent was still frowning at the opposite wall when a faint knock sounded, and at his call Sylvester entered.
“Here are the letters received this morning, sir, and type-written copies of the answers to yesterday's correspondence which Mr. Rochester dictated11 before leaving,” Sylvester explained as he placed the papers on Kent's desk. “If you will o.k. them, I will mail them at once.”
Kent went through the letters with care, and the new clerk rose in his estimation as he read the excellent dictation of the clearly typed answers.
“These will do admirably,” he announced. “Sit down and I will reply to the other letters.”
At the end of an hour Sylvester closed his stenographic12 note book and collected the correspondence, by that time scattered13 over Kent's desk.
“I'll have these notes ready for your signature before lunch,” he said as he picked up a newspaper from the floor where it had tumbled during Kent's search for some particular letter heads. “I brought in the morning paper, sir; thought perhaps you had not seen it.”
“Thanks.” Kent swung his chair nearer the window and opened the newspaper. He had purchased a copy when walking through union Station on his arrival, but had left it in the cafeteria where he had snatched a cup of coffee and hot rolls before hurrying to his office.
He read a column devoted14 to international affairs, scanned an account of a senatorial wrangle15, and was about to turn to the second page, whistling cheerily, when his attention was arrested by the headings:
BANK CASHIER DIES IN POLICE COURT
JAMES TURNBULL, MISTAKEN FOR BURGLAR,
SUFFERS FATAL ATTACK OF ANGINA PECTORIS
Kent's whistle stopped abruptly16, and clutching the paper in both hands, he devoured17 the short account printed under the scare heads:
“While masquerading as a burglar on a wager18,
James Turnbull, cashier of the Metropolis19 Trust
Company, was arrested by Officer O'Ryan at an
early hour yesterday morning in the residence of
Colonel Charles McIntyre.
“Officer O'Ryan conducted his prisoner to the
8th Precinct Police Station, and later he was
arraigned in the police court. The Misses
McIntyre appeared in person to prefer the
charges against the supposed burglar, who, on
being sworn, gave the name of John Smith.
“Philip Rochester, the well known criminal
lawyer, was assigned by the court to defend the
prisoner. Upon the evidence submitted Judge
Mackall held the prisoner for trial by the grand
jury.
“It was just after the Judge's announcement
that 'John Smith,' then sitting in the prisoners
cage, was seized with the attack of angina pectoris
which ended so fatally a few minutes later.
It was not until after he had expired that those
rendering him medical assistance became aware
that he was James Turnbull in disguise.
“James Turnbull was a native of Washington,
his father, the late Hon Josiah Turnbull of
Connecticut, having made this city his permanent
home in the early '90s. Mr. Turnbull was looked
upon as one of the rising young men in banking20
circles; he was also prominent socially, was a
member of the Alibi21, Metropolitan22, and Country
Clubs, and until recently was active in all forms
of athletics23, when his ill-health precluded24 active
exercise.
“Officer O'Ryan, who was greatly shocked by
the fatal termination to Mr. Turnbull's rash
wager, stated to the representatives of the press
that Mr. Turnbull gave no hint of his identity
while being interrogated25 at the 8th Precinct
Station. Friends attribute Mr. Turnbull's
disinclination to reveal himself to the court, to
his enjoyment26 of a practical joke, not realizing
that the resultant excitement of the scene would
react on his weak heart.
“Mr. Turnbull is survived by a great aunt; he had
no nearer relatives living. It is a singular
coincidence that the lawyer appointed by the
court to defend Turnbull was his intimate friend,
Philip Rochester, who made his home with the
deceased.”
Kent read the column over and over, then, letting the paper slip to the floor, sat back in his chair, too dumb-founded for words. Jimmie Turnbull arrested as a burglar in the home of the girl he loved on charges preferred by her, and defended in court by his intimate friend, both of whom were unaware27 of his identity! Kent rumpled28 his fair hair until it stood upright. And Jimmie's death had followed almost immediately as the result of over-excitement!
Kent's eyes grew moist; he had been very fond of the eccentric, lovable bank cashier, whose knack29 of performing many a kindly30 act, unsolicited, had endeared him to friends and acquaintances alike. Kent had seen much of him after his return from France, for Jimmie's attention to Helen McIntyre had been only second to Kent's devotion to the latter's sister, Barbara. The two men had one bond in common. Colonel McIntyre disliked them and discouraged their calling, to the secret fury of both, but love had found a way—Kent's eyes kindled31 at the recollection of Barbara's half-shy, wholly tender reception of his ardent32 pleading.
Turnbull's courtship had met with a set-back where he had least expected it—Philip Rochester had fallen deeply in love with Helen and, encouraged by her father, had pressed his suit with ardor33. Frequent quarrels between the two close friends had been the outcome, and Jimmie had confided34 to Kent, before the latter left on the business trip to Chicago from which he had returned that morning, that the situation had become intolerable and he had notified Rochester that he would no longer share his apartment with him, and to look for other quarters as quickly as possible.
So buried was Kent in his thoughts that he never heard Sylvester's knock, and it was not until the clerk stood at his elbow that he awoke from his absorption.
“A lady to see you, Mr. Kent,” he announced. “Shall I show her in?”
“Certainly—her name?”
“She gave none.” Sylvester paused on his way back to the door. “It is one of the Misses McIntyre.”
“Good Lord!” Kent was on his feet, straightening his tie and brushing his rumpled hair. “Here, wait a minute”—clutching a whisk broom in a frantic35 endeavor to remove some of the signs of travel which still clung to him. But he had only opportunity for one dab36 at his left shoulder before Barbara entered the office. All else forgotten, Kent tossed down the whisk broom and the next instant he had clasped her hand in both of his, his eyes telling more eloquently37 than his stumbling words, his joy at seeing her again.
“This is a business call,” she stated demurely38, “on you and Mr. Rochester.” Her lovely eyes held a glint of mischief39 as she mentioned Kent's partner, then her expression grew serious. “I want legal advice.”
“I am afraid you will have to put up with me,” Kent moved his ............