Chapter II: The Mill-Owner

Big arc-lamps flared above the railroad track that crossed the yard of the Hulton factory, but except for a yellow glimmer from a few upper windows, the building rose in a huge dark oblong against the sky. The sharp clanging of a locomotive bell jarred on the silence, for the mill hands had gone home and the wheels that often hummed all night were still. It seemed to Foster, who glanced at his watch as he picked his way among the lines, that the shadow of the recent tragedy brooded over the place.

"I don't know that I'm imaginative; but I wouldn't like the night-watchman's job just now," he remarked to Featherstone. "Hulton's illness can't have spoiled his nerve, or he'd have asked us to meet him at his house, in view of what he probably wants to talk about."

"I suspect that Hulton's nerve is better than yours or mine, and although I'm sorry for the old man. It was a surprise to me when he broke down," Featherstone replied. "This is the first time I've been in the mill since Fred was shot, and I'll own that I'd sooner have come in daylight."

They went round a row of loaded cars to the timekeeper's office, where a man told them that Hulton was waiting and they were to go right up. A dark passage, along which their footsteps echoed, led to a flight of stairs, and they felt there was something oppressive in the gloom, but a small light burned near the top of the building, and when they reached a landing Featherstone touched his partner. It was at this spot Fred Hulton had been found lying on the floor, with a fouled pistol of a make he was known to practice with near his hand. Foster shivered as he noted the cleanness of the boards. It indicated careful scrubbing, and was somehow more daunting than a sign of what had happened there.

A short night of stairs led to the offices of the head of the firm, and the treasurer, whose assistant Fred Hulton had been. They went on and entered a small, plainly-furnished room, well lighted by electric lamps, where Hulton sat at a writing-table and signed them to sit down. His shoulders were bent, his clothes hung slackly on his powerful frame, and Featherstone thought his hair had grown whiter since he saw him last. He looked ill, but his face was hard and resolute, and when he let his eyes rest on the young men his mouth was firmly set. Hulton's business acumen and tenacity were known, and it was supposed that the latter quality had helped him much in the earlier part of his career. The other man, who sat close by, was the treasurer, Percival.

"To begin with, I want to thank you for the way you gave your evidence," Hulton said to Featherstone, who had been one of the last to see Fred Hulton alive.

"I don't know that thanks are needed," Featherstone replied. "I had promised to tell the truth."

"Just so. The truth, however, strikes different people differently, and you gave the matter the most favorable look you could. We'll let it go at that. I suppose you're still convinced my son was in his usual health and spirits? Mr. Percival is in my confidence, and we can talk without reserve."

"Yes, sir; I never found him morbid, and he was cheerful when I saw him late that night."

"In fact, you were surprised when you heard what happened soon after you left?" Hulton suggested in a quiet voice.

"I was shocked. But, if I catch your meaning, I was puzzled afterwards, and had better say I see no light yet."

"Is this how you feel about it?" Hulton asked Foster.

"It is," said Foster, noting the man's stern calm, and Hulton turned to Percival.

"That's my first point! These men knew my son."

Then he looked at Featherstone. "Fred went with you now and then on hunting and prospecting trips, and that probably led to a certain intimacy. You say he was never morbid; did you ever find him anxious or disturbed?"

Featherstone pondered. Fred Hulton, who was younger, had spent a year or two in Europe before he entered the factory. He had moreover told Featherstone about some trouble he had got into there, but the latter could not tell how much his father knew.

"You can talk straight," Hulton resumed. "I guess I won't be shocked."

"Very well. I did find him disturbed once or twice. Perhaps you knew he had some difficulties in Paris."

"I knew about the girl," Hulton answered grimly. "I found that out not long since; she was a clever adventuress. But I don't know where Fred got the money he sent her. Did you lend it him?"

"I lent him some," Featherstone admitted, hesitatingly. "He told me afterwards she had promised to make no further claim, and I understand she kept her word."

Hulton turned to the treasurer. "You will see Mr. Featherstone about this to-morrow. I've cleared up another point; Fred was not being urged to send more money." Then he asked Foster: "Do you know if he had any other dangerous friends?"

"There was Daly. They were friends, in a way, and I wouldn't trust the fellow. Still, I don't know how far his influence went, and imagine Fred hadn't much to do with him for some months. Besides, Daly wasn't at the Crossing when----"

Hulton said nothing for the next few moments and Foster mused. Fred Hulton had been very likable, in spite of certain weaknesses, and he thought it cost his father something to talk about him as he did. Hulton, however, seldom showed what he felt and would, no doubt, take the line he thought best with a stoic disregard of the pain it might cause. He rested his elbow on the table, as if he were tired, and sat very quiet with his chin on his hand, until he asked Featherstone:

"Why did you lend Fred the money he sent the girl?"

"For one thing, because he was my friend," Featherstone answered with a flush. "Then I knew into what straits the need of money can drive a young man. I got into trouble myself some years ago."

Hulton nodded. "Thank you. You helped him out. You have no ground to think he was embarrassed by the need of money on the night he died?"

"I feel sure he was not. He kept me some time talking cheerfully about a hunting trip we meant to make."

"Well," said Hulton quietly, "you're going to be surprised now. I did not give my evidence as frankly as you claim to have done, but kept something back. Mr. Percival was away for two or three weeks, and Fred was the only person besides myself who knew the combination that opens the safe. On the morning after we found him dead I examined the safe. A number of bonds and a wad of small bills for wages had gone. It was significant that Percival was due back next day."

Featherstone started, but his face was hot with scornful anger.

"That had no significance! I'd as soon suspect myself or my partner of stealing the bonds, but the safe's being open throws a new light upon the thing. Somebody you haven't thought of yet knew or found out the combination."

"Then, in face of what you have heard, you do not believe my son fired the shot that took his life?"

"No, sir," said Featherstone, with quiet earnestness. "I never thought it, and it is impossible to believe it now."

"My partner's opinion's mine," Foster broke in. Hulton looked from one to the other and a curious steely glitter came into his eyes. It hinted at a pitiless, unchangeable purpose, and bracing himself with an effort he clenched his fist.

"Nor do I believe it! If necessary, I'll let my business and factory go and spend the last dollar I've got to find the man who killed my boy."

Next moment he sank limply back in his chair, as if the strain and vindictive emotion, reacting on his physical weakness, had overcome him, and there was silence until he recovered. Foster felt it something of a relief that the man's icy self-control had broken down.

"Very well," Hulton resumed in a shaky voice. "I brought you here because you knew my son and I wanted your support. Then I meant to convince Percival, whose help I may need to clear the boy's good name. We'll let that go and try to be practical."

"Were the bonds negotiable?" Foster asked. "Could they be easily sold?"

Percival, who was about fifty years of age and had a reserved manner, answered: "Some were bearer bonds, and, if the thief acted quickly, would be as good as cash. Most, however, were registered stock, and it is probable that he would be afraid to sell them in Canada or America. The transfers would require to be forged."

"What about Europe?"

"That is where the danger lies. If he had clever confederates, a large part of the value of the bonds could be borrowed from a bank, or they might be sold to unsuspecting buyers on a French or German bourse."

"But this would depend on the publicity you gave their theft."

"Exactly," Percival agreed with some dryness. "I have been trying to make Mr. Hulton recognize it."

Hulton's tense look softened and he smiled. "Percival seems to have forgotten that I am a business man. At the inquiry I shirked my duty by keeping something back, and now he expects me to brand my son's good name. The money must go. In a sense, it is a trifling loss."

"At last, you put me wise," said Percival. "But to prove that Fred was innocent you must find the thief."

"That's so. It must be done with skill and tact by the best New York private investigation man that I can hire. The job's too delicate for the regular police."

Featherstone, who had been sitting thoughtfully silent, looked up. "Perhaps it's lucky the wage clerk went into the treasurer's office after I left, though I spoke to the watchman, Jordan, as I went out."

"No," said Percival sharply. "It wasn't Jordan's week on night-guard."

There was silence for a moment, and then Hulton asked: "Where did you meet the man you thought was Jordan? Did he answer you?"

"He was going along the ground-floor passage in front of me, and the only light was in the pay-office at the end. He stood in the doorway as I passed and I said, 'It's a cold night, Tom.' I'd gone a few yards when he answered, 'It will be colder soon.'"

"Then as you passed the door he must have seen your face, though you could not see his," said Hulton, who turned to Percival. "Clark was on night-guard and his name's not Tom. Where was he when Mr. Featherstone left?"

"In the lathe-room at the other end of the building. The punch in the check-clock shows it," Percival replied.

Hulton pondered, knitting his brows, before he said, "Since you thought the man was Jordan, you wouldn't know him again."

"No; he was about Jordan's height and build, but I only saw his figure. It showed dark and rather indistinct against the light."

"Well," said Hulton, "you see the importance of this. We have something to go upon; a stranger was in the factory." Then he got up with a look of keen relief in his worn face. "I thank you and your partner; you have given me hope. Some day all who knew my boy will believe what you believe. Now I have something to say to Percival, and then he must help me home to bed."

He shook hands with them and let them go. They left the factory in silence, but as they crossed the yard Foster remarked: "I'm sorry for Hulton. For all his quietness, he takes the thing very hard."

"I imagine the fellow who shot Fred Hulton will need your pity most," Featherstone replied. "The old man will run him down with the determination and energy that helped him to build up his business. Money with brains behind it is a power, but I wouldn't like Hulton on my track if he hadn't a cent. There's something relentless about the man." He paused and resumed: "Well, he has a clew. It's curious I didn't think of mentioning before that I spoke to the watchman, but I thought the fellow was Jordan. I wonder how the thief will get the bonds across to Europe."

"There would be some danger in carrying them; anyhow, he'd imagine so, although it looks as if Hulton doesn't mean to tell the police much just yet. Of course, there's the mail, but the thief might be afraid to post the papers."

Featherstone nodded. "I think it's in Hulton's favor that he'll be satisfied with one of the private detective agencies to begin with, while the man he's looking for will be on his guard against the police. Besides, it's possible that the fellow won't take many precautions, since there's a plausible explanation of Fred Hulton's death."

"Do you think the man you passed saw you well enough to know you again?"

"He may have done so."

"Then if he imagined that you saw him, it would make a difference," Foster said thoughtfully, "He'd reckon that you were the greatest danger he had to guard against."

Featherstone stopped and caught his comrade's arm as the yard locomotive pushed some cars along the track they were about to cross, and the harsh tolling of the bell made talking difficult. When the cars had passed they let the matter drop and went back to the hotel where they had left their automobile.