“Why didn’t you tell me?” asked Brewster.
“There can be no doubt that Jones has fled, accompanied by his secretary. The belief in Butte is that the secretary has murdered him.”
“God!” was the only sound that came from the lips of Brewster.
Ripley moistened his lips and went on—
“We have dispatches here from the police, the banks, the trust companies and from a half dozen mine managers. You may read them if you like, but I can tell you what they say. About the first of this month Jones began to turn various securities into money. It is now known that they were once the property of James T. Sedgwick, held in trust for you. The safety deposit vaults were afterward visited and inspection shows that he removed every scrap of stock, every bond, everything of value that he could lay his hands upon. His own papers and effects were not disturbed. Yours alone have disappeared. It is this fact that convinces the authorities that the secretary has made away with the old man and has fled with the property. The bank people say that Jones drew out every dollar of the Sedgwick money, and the police say that he realized tremendous sums on the convertible securities. The strange part of it is that he sold your mines and your real estate, the purchaser being a man named Golden. Brewster, it—it looks very much as if he had disappeared with everything.”
Brewster did not take his eyes from Ripley’s face throughout the terrible speech; he did not move a fraction of an inch from the rigid position assumed at the beginning.
“Is anything being done?” he asked, mechanically.
“The police are investigating. He is known to have started off into the mountains with this secretary on the third of September. Neither has been seen since that day, so far as anyone knows. The earth seems to have swallowed them. The authorities are searching the mountains and are making every effort to find Jones or his body. He is known to be eccentric and at first not much importance was attached to his actions. That is all we can tell you at present. There may be developments tomorrow. It looks bad—terribly bad. We—we had the utmost confidence in Jones. My God, I wish I could help you, my boy.”
“I don’t blame you, gentlemen,” said Brewster, bravely. “It’s just my luck, that’s all. Something told me all along that—that it wouldn’t turn out right. I wasn’t looking for this kind of end, though. My only fear was that—Jones wouldn’t consider me worthy to receive the fortune. It never occurred to me that he might prove to be the—the unworthy one.”
“I will take you a little farther into our confidence, Brewster,” said Grant, slowly. “Mr. Jones notified us at the beginning that he would be governed largely in his decision by our opinion of your conduct. That is why we felt no hesitation in advising you to continue as you were going. While you were off at sea, we had many letters from him, all in that sarcastic vein of his, but in none of them did he offer a word of criticism. He seemed thoroughly satisfied with your methods. In fact, he once said he’d give a million of his own money if it would purchase your ability to spend one-fourth of it.”
“Well, he can have my experience free of charge. A beggar can’t be a chooser, you know,” said Brewster, bitterly. His color was gradually coming back. “What do they know about the secretary?” he asked, suddenly, intent and alive.
“He was a new one, I understand, who came to Jones less than a year ago. Jones is said to have had implicit faith in him,” said Ripley.
“And he disappeared at the same time?”
“They were last seen together.”
“Then he has put an end to Jones!” cried Monty, excitedly. “It is as plain as day to me. Don’t you see that he exerted some sort of influence over the old man, inducing him to get all this money together on some pretext or other, solely for the purpose of robbing him of the whole amount? Was ever anything more diabolical?” He began pacing the floor like an animal, nervously clasping and unclasping his hands. “We must catch that secretary! I don’t believe Jones was dishonest. He has been duped by a clever scoundrel.”
“The strangest circumstance of all, Mr. Brewster, is that no such person as Golden, the purchaser of your properties, can be found. He is supposed to reside in Omaha, and it is known that he paid nearly three million dollars for the property that now stands in his name. He paid it to Mr. Jones in cash, too, and he paid every cent that the property is worth.”
“But he must be in existence somewhere,” cried Brewster, in perplexity. “How the devil could he pay the money if he doesn’t exist?”
“I only know that no trace of the man can be found. They know nothing of him in Omaha,” said Grant, helplessly.
“So it has finally happened,” said Brewster, but his excitement had dropped. “Well,” he added, throwing himself into a deep chair, “it was always much too strange to be true. Even at the
