Chapter XXI
At the sight of Beecher and Gunther, Garraboy stopped short, evidently nonplused.
“I was told to come in,” he said, lifting his eyebrows.
“Quite right,” said McKenna briskly, raising his voice a trifle. From the moment of the broker’s entrance his eyes fastened on Garraboy, never leaving him. “Come right in.”
“I’m interrupting—” said Garraboy carefully, conscious of this set gaze.
“Not in the least.”
“I thought our business was confidential, McKenna,” he said, without having moved from the position he had taken on entering. “I fail to see—” he stopped and looked again at the two young men.
“Oh, Mr. Beecher and Gunther,” said McKenna affably; “suppose we call them attorneys for one of your clients.”
“Miss Charters?”
“You’re a good guesser, Mr. Garraboy.”
The broker drew in his upper lip and, coming slowly forward, said:
“The presence of these gentlemen is exceedingly distasteful to me.”
“You’re not in a position to object, Mr. Garraboy.”
Garraboy turned his back and walked slowly back and forth, evidently in distressed conjecture, occasionally raising his head to shoot a glance at the three, half in rage, half in fear.
All at once he stopped by the desk as though his mind had come to a certain decision, and, bearing heavily on it, said:
“I do not know that I care, under the circumstances, to enter into any discussion. You, Mr. McKenna, represent my client, Mrs. Alva White; your claim against me is for forty-five thousand eight hundred and forty-six dollars.” He drew out his pocketbook. “I have here a check made to your order.” A second time he plunged his hand into his pocket and brought out a check-book. “I was not notified that Miss Charters’ was also under discussion. However, I will settle that at once. To whose order, please?”
McKenna, without answering, indicated himself with a jerk of his finger.
Garraboy, seating himself at the desk, took up a pen and carefully filled in the check, blotted it and handed the two drafts to McKenna, who took them, endorsed them and, ringing, handed them to an assistant:
“Present these at once. Telephone me as soon as they are honored.”
Garraboy carefully blotted the check-book in turn, replaced it in his pocket, and was thrusting back his chair from the desk when McKenna, turning on him sharply, said:
“Garraboy, you stole that ring of Mrs. Kildair’s.”
The broker, startled, jerked up his head.
“So that’s the meaning of all this!” he said angrily.
“Answer my question!”
But this time Garraboy, without wincing, rose suddenly to his feet.
“McKenna, I have nothing more to say to you,” he said, scowling, “on this or any other question. Your claims are satisfied. I recognize no further right of you to insult me.”
“Don’t move, Mr. Garraboy,” said McKenna softly; “we’ve a lot of business still to talk over.”
“Are you trying to blackmail me?” said Garraboy furiously, folding his arms.
“Garraboy, I’ve got the goods on you and there may be a paper or two in my pocket you wouldn’t care to have served,” said McKenna, the pupils of his eyes seeming to dwindle to a point as the whites showed under a well-simulated show of anger. “First place, you’re going to sit here until I get a telephone those checks are cashed. Second, and this may surprise you, you’re going to stick right by me—today and tonight, until you make up your mind whether you’ll answer me or answer a court of justice. Third, before we get through here, I want your name at the bottom of a little document I’ve drawn up for you.”
“What do you mean?” said Garraboy, but with a note of apprehension in his voice.
“A plain, honest recital of what you’ve been doing with other folks’ property these last two months—”
“You said—” fairly screamed the broker.
“I said if you settled my claims I wouldn’t prosecute—true, and I won’t. But just the same you’re getting out of business here in New York, and I’m going to hold a paper that’ll keep you out.”
“Never!” exclaimed Garraboy in desperation. “Every cent I owe will be settled in twenty-four hours. I’ll close up every account—I’ll agree to that—but I’ll not be blackmailed into this. You haven’t a charge against me that’ll stand in any court in this country—”
“What about that ring?” said McKenna. “You were trying all over town to raise fifteen thousand dollars that day. Garraboy, you stole that ring, pawned it, and raised the money to hold off your loans.”
“That’s a lie!” he said, clenching his fists. “I got it—”
“Where?”
“None of your business.”
“Where did you get the money to pay your interest and to put up the new margins you did?”
“I was acting for others.”
“What others?”
Garraboy opened his mouth to reply and then suddenly stopped.
McKenna said immediately:
“No, you won’t say what others, because if you do claim you sold for others, here before witnesses, you know you’ll restore a good deal more money than you figured out to disgorge. Oh, you’re clever all right. Answer me—did you steal that ring?”
“I did not,” said Garraboy suddenly; “and I don’t know anything more about it than Beecher here—in fact, considerably less.” He looked over with a sneer on his lips and then quickly and firmly exclaimed: “McKenna, my mind’s made up. I’m going out that door—now. If you attempt to prevent me, I’ll hold Mr. Beecher and Mr. Gunther here as witnesses that you kept me here by force. And I’ll have you up on—”
All at once he seemed to choke on a word as his eyes, following the movement of the fist that struck the table, came suddenly in contact with the upturned sheet entitled:
“GARRABOY, EDWARD V.”
The sight seemed to paralyze every muscle of his body. He sat down abruptly, drawing the document under his eye.
“Take your time, Bracken, read it over carefully,” said McKenna in a soothing voice. He retired to the fireplace and relaxed into the easy chair awaiting the moment.
Garraboy read hastily, fairly galloping through the pages. Then he stiffened in his chair, frowned and read carefully through it all again, considering each phrase.
At the last, the three who watched him saw him push the paper from him, lock his hands in front of him and stare at McKenna. The correct, insolent man of the world had faded; instead, before them, bare to the bone, was the rascal, the desperate, clever adventurer. Suddenly making a quick resolve, he said in a tone that surprised them for its absence of emotion:
“Give me the paper I’m to sign.”
McKenna jumped up and going to a shelf took down an affidavit.
“It is always a pleasure to deal with profession,” he said genially, placing the document on the table. “Oh, read it first.”
Garraboy skimmed through it hastily, nodding. He took up his pen and paused.
“It’s understood that the contents will never be made public, directly or indirectly, so long as I keep out of the United States?”
“Understood.”
“Your word of honor on it as a gentleman, McKenna?”
“My word.”
“And yours, too, Mr. Beecher, Mr. Gunther?”
Each repeated the promise in turn.
Garraboy signed the confession and handed it to McKenna.
“What now?”
“You will, of course, wind up your business immediately.”
“I will telephone for my clerk to bring my books here at once for your inspection. I will draw the necessary checks and have them deposited to the credit of my clients this afternoon. One of your men can personally assure himself that everything is right. Will that satisfy you?”
“Couldn’t have proposed anything more practical,” said McKenna, nodding.
“What next?”
“Clean up that matter of the ring.”
Garraboy rose impatiently,
“I haven’t got the ring.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Are you going to keep me under surveillance?”
“I am.”
“Until when?”
“Until the ring is returned.”
“McKenna,” said Garraboy desperately, “I think I’ve satisfied you. I’m not standing on technicalities. You’ve got me cold. I know it. Now, I’ll tell you just how I stand. When everything is paid up, I stand pretty nearly $200,000 to the good. I’m going to get out—go abroad and stay there, and I want to catch the first boat out. If I had that ring, I’d throw it over, quick. That’s straight goods.”
“Garraboy, did you steal that ring?” said McKenna again.
“I did not.” He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped away the perspiration which stood on his forehead.
“Did you ever see before the detective, John Ryan, whom Mrs. Kildair called in?”
Garraboy hesitated.
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Employed him?”
“Yes.”
“Many times?”
“Several.”
“And you recommended him to Mrs. Kildair?”
“Yes.”
“So you knew whom she would call in?”
“No, I didn’t think of that.”
“Garraboy, didn’t you take the ring knowing that Ryan would be called in and that he would never make a search of you?”
“I did not.”
“Do you know who took it?”
“No.”
“That’s sufficient,” said McKenna, apparently satisfied.
“What are you going to do?” asked Garraboy nervously.
“Keep you on a rope until the ring turns up.
“I want to get away,” said Garraboy weakly.
“I know that.”
The broker remained quiet a moment, turning a pencil with his moist fingers.
“Will you answer one question?” he said at last.
“What?”
“Does Mrs. Kildair know—are you acting for her?”
“Mrs. Kildair does not know what I’m doing,” said McKenna quietly.
Garraboy rose with what seemed a little relief, a movement that McKenna was quick to note.
“Well, I’ve made up my mind to tell you what I know,” he said, after a few nervous steps.
“Good.”
“I haven’t got the ring,” he said carefully.
“Did you take it?”
“I did not take it,” said Garraboy, looking steadily in McKenna’s eyes.
“But you know?”
“Yes, in a way I know,” he said firmly. “A woman took it.”
“How do you know?”
Garraboy did not answer immediately. He seemed reluctant to continue, frowning and moving restlessly from foot to foot. Finally he blurted out:
“I don’t know who took it first, but this is what happened—the God’s truth. When Mrs. Kildair put out the lights and counted sixty-one, I heard the ring on the table.” He hesitated a moment and said hurriedly: “I made up my mind to give them all a shock. I did not intend to keep the ring; I swear it. I put out my hand to take it—and I touched another hand—the hand of a woman.”
“Who took it?”
“Yes.”
“Was that woman Mrs. Cheever, or Miss Lille?” said McKenna quickly.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know.”
“No.”
“You have no idea?”
“No.”
“No suspicion?”
“No.”
“You were told nothing afterward?”
“Nothing.”
“Garraboy, it’s just possible you’re not lying,” said McKenna with a frown; “though I’m not sure by a long shot. However, I’ll know the truth before the sun goes down.”
“How?” said Garraboy, looking up.
“I neglected to tell you,” said McKenna, watching him, “that I know whom the ring was pawned with, and this evening the gentleman himself will tell me who pawned it. The time I keep you depends a good deal on what he says.”
“Then, this evening I will be free,” said Garraboy joyfully, with such evident confidence that both young men were struck by it and McKenna, a little disturbed in his theory, continued staring at the face of Garraboy, which was illumined with a slight, malicious smile.