“It’s a bad business, but don’t let’s talk of it now. Come, let’s go back to our guests. Don’t look so cut up about it, Frank, old man. It isn’t as bad as it might be, and you mustn’t show a gloomy face tonight.”
The younger man pulled himself together, and re-entered the room with his brother. In a few minutes his gaiety had apparently returned.
When they rejoined the ladies, even their quick eyes could detect in his demeanour no trace of the annoying thing that had occurred. His face did not change until, with a wealth of fervent congratulations, he had bade the last guest goodbye.
Then he turned to his brother. “When Leslie is in bed, come into the library. I will wait for you there,” he said, and walked sadly away.
“Poor, foolish Frank,” mused his brother, “as if the loss could matter to him.”
III
The Theft
Frank was very pale when his brother finally came to him at the appointed place. He sat limply in his chair, his eyes fixed upon the floor.
“Come, brace up now, Frank, and tell me about it.”
At the sound of his brother’s voice he started and looked up as though he had been dreaming.
“I don’t know what you’ll think of me, Maurice,” he said; “I have never before been guilty of such criminal carelessness.”
“Don’t stop to accuse yourself. Our only hope in this matter lies in prompt action. Where was the money?”
“In the oak cabinet and lying in the bureau drawer. Such a thing as a theft seemed so foreign to this place that I was never very particular about the box. But I did not know until I went to it tonight that the last time I had opened it I had forgotten to take the key out. It all flashed over me in a second when I saw it shining there. Even then I didn’t suspect anything. You don’t know how I felt to open that cabinet and find all my money gone. It’s awful.”
“Don’t worry. How much was there in all?”
“Nine hundred and eighty-six dollars, most of which, I am ashamed to say, I had accepted from you.”
“You have no right to talk that way, Frank; you know I do not begrudge a cent you want. I have never felt that my father did quite right in leaving me the bulk of the fortune; but we won’t discuss that now. What I want you to understand, though, is that the money is yours as well as mine, and you are always welcome to it.”
The artist shook his head. “No, Maurice,” he said, “I can accept no more from you. I have already used up all my own money and too much of yours in this hopeless fight. I don’t suppose I was ever cut out for an artist, or I’d have done something really notable in this time, and would not be a burden upon those who care for me. No, I’ll give up going to Paris and find some work to do.”
“Frank, Frank, be silent. This is nonsense, Give up your art? You shall not do it. You shall go to Paris as usual. Leslie and I have perfect faith in you. You shall not give up on account of this misfortune. What are the few paltry dollars to me or to you?”
“Nothing, nothing, I know. It isn’t the money, it’s the principle of the thing.”
“Principle be hanged! You go back to Paris tomorrow, just as you had planned. I do not ask it, I command it.”
The younger man looked up quickly.
“Pardon me, Frank, for using those words and at such a time. You know how near my heart your success lies, and to hear you talk of giving it all up makes me forget myself. Forgive me, but you’ll go back, won’t you?”
“You are too good, Maurice,” said Frank impulsively, “and I will go back, and I’ll try to redeem myself.”
“There is no redeeming of yourself to do, my dear boy; all you have to do is to mature yourself. We’ll have a detective down and see what we can do in this matter.”
Frank gave a scarcely perceptible start. “I do so hate such things,” he said; “and, anyway, what’s the use? They’ll never find out where the stuff went to.”
“Oh, you need not be troubled in this matter. I know that such things must jar on your delicate nature. But I am a plain hardheaded business man, and I can attend to it without distaste.”
“But I hate to shove everything unpleasant off on you, It’s what I’ve been doing all my life.”
“Never mind that. Now tell me, who was the last person you remember in your room?”
“Oh, Esterton was up there awhile before dinner. But he was not alone two minutes.”
“Why, he would be out of the question anyway. Who else?”
“Hamilton was up yesterday.”
“Alone?”
“Yes, for a while. His boy, Joe, shaved me, and Jack was up for a while brushing my clothes.”
“Then it lies between Jack and Joe?”
Frank hesitated.
“Neither one was left alone, though.”
“Then only Hamilton and Esterton have been alone for any time in your room since you left the key in your cabinet?”
“Those are the only ones of whom I know anything. What others went in during the day, of course, I know nothing about. It couldn’t have been either Esterton or Hamilton.”
“Not Esterton, no.”
“And Hamilton is beyond suspicion.”
“No servant is beyond suspicion.”
“I would trust Hamilton anywhere,” said Frank stoutly, “and with anything.”
“That’s noble of you, Frank, and I would have done the same, but we must remember that we are not in the old days now. The negroes are becoming less faithful and less contented, and more’s the pity, and a deal more ambitious, although I have never had any unfaithfulness on the part of Hamilton to
