Chapter III: Part 3

Lake was too depressed to see it at the moment, but later it began to dawn on him that the colonel, usually astute, had made a grievous mistake. In his anxiety to impress upon the young man the futility of his avaricious schemes, in the face of such wise and resourceful opposition, he had mentioned the fact that the minority stock had been brought within their reach. Had they already bought it, or had they only secured options on it? If already purchased, the purchase price would prove a dead loss, unless they were able to get enough more to secure control. To parallel the road would be to kill a company in which they were financially interested, in addition to incurring the considerable expense necessary for a new connecting link.

Lake went to Bington that afternoon, and returned the following morning. The game was his, if he could raise the money; they had bought most of the minority stock outright, being unable to get options on it. He was sure of victory now, if he could raise the money. He no longer wished to turn the deal over to any one else on any terms: he wished to carry it to the conclusion himself. But the money, the money!

He tried Belden again, but Belden still considered the security utterly inadequate for a loan of twenty thousand dollars. In truth, although Belden considered the outlook a little more promising now, he doubted the young man's ability to handle such a deal, and it would take very little to upset all calculations. The company's investment was not sufficient to prevent the abandonment of the road in some very possible circumstances, although it was ample evidence of a present plan to use it. Murray took the same view of the situation.

"It begins to look like a good speculation," said Murray, "but I haven't the money to invest in it, and I never was much of a speculator, anyway. I have discovered that, as a general thing, when the possible profit begins to climb very much over the legal rate of interest, the probability of loss increases with it. However, if you want to take the risk, that's your affair, provided you have the money."

"But I haven't," complained Lake; "that's the trouble."

"Too bad you're not carrying enough insurance to be of some use," remarked Murray.

"What good would that do?" asked Lake.

"Why, then you'd only have to convince your wife that you have a safe investment, and it's always easier to convince your wife than it is to convince some coldblooded capitalist. Insurance ranks high as security, but of course the beneficiary has to consent to its use."

"I never had thought of insurance as a factor in financiering," said Lake. "I had regarded it more as a family matter."

"It plays an important part in the business world," explained Murray, "and it might even play a part in speculation. There is partnership insurance, you know."

"I may have heard of it, but I never gave it any consideration."

"It's not a speculation, but a business precaution," said Murray. "The partners are insured in favor of the firm. If one of them dies, it gives the firm the ready cash to buy his interest from the widow, without infringing on the business capital. Partnership insurance may sometimes prevent a failure; it may prevent several. Many interests may depend temporarily upon the operation of one man, and his sudden death might spell ruin for a number of people, unless they were protected by insurance. The policy is playing a more important part in the business world every day. There are lots of strange things that can be done when you fully understand it."

"But that doesn't help me," asserted Lake impatiently.

"No," returned Murray, "I don't see how insurance could help you just now, unless you were to die. A policy won't be accepted as security for a sum in excess of the premiums paid, for you might default."

"I'm not the kind of man who dies to win," said Lake rather sharply.

"Of course not," replied Murray. "I was merely considering the financial possibilities of policies." All insurance questions being of absorbing interest to Murray, he straightway forgot all about Lake's predicament, and busied his mind with his own speculations. "There is so much that can be done with insurance," he went on, "but I guess it's just as well the public doesn't know it all. Do you remember the case of Rankin, the banker who committed suicide?"

"Yes."

"Well, Rankin couldn't have done anything with our company, because the element of premeditation is assumed if death by suicide occurs within two years from the time the policy is issued. After that the manner of death cuts no figure, for the courts have held that an insurance company takes a risk on the mind as well as the body of a policy-holder, and, anyway, competition has cut out the old suicide restrictions. But there are companies that issue policies incontestable after the date of issue. Suppose Rankin, when he found his affairs in such shape that he no longer dared to face the world, had gone to one or more of these companies. A hundred thousand dollars--very likely less--would have protected his bank and provided for his family. He had already decided to kill himself, for his operations had been such that he could not hope to escape the penitentiary when discovery came, but he was ostensibly still a prosperous man. Many men of his standing insure themselves for extraordinarily large sums, to protect legitimately their business interests as well as their families.

"Not so very long ago we issued a paid-up policy for fifty thousand dollars on the life of one man, who died within three years, and we thought nothing of it. He was taking a risk on his own life then, for he thought he was going to live long enough to make a paid-up policy cheaper than the aggregate of annual payments, whereas there would have been a saving to his estate of a good many thousands of dollars if he had followed the other plan. However, that has nothing to do with this case; I mention it only to show that a man of Rankin's apparent standing could have got insurance to any amount without creating comment. And, with an incontestable-after-date-of-issue policy, he could have protected his business associates and his family by the very culmination of his overwhelming disgrace. Why, a defaulter could use part of his stolen money in this way to provide for his family when the moment of discovery and death shall come, or a dishonest business man, facing ruin, could use his creditors' money to make such provision, for insurance money is something sacred, that can not be reached like the rest of an estate. Oh, there are great dramatic possibilities in this business, Lake--tragedies and comedies and dramas of which the public knows nothing."

"How does that help me?" demanded Lake gloomily, and the question brought Murray back to the realities of the moment.

"It doesn't help you," Murray replied, "but it's an intensely interesting subject to one who gives it a little time and thought."

Yet it did help Lake, although not at that moment. It was a new field, and Lake liked to explore new fields. A novelty that taxed his ingenuity appealed to him especially. True, he had enough to occupy his mind without entering upon idle speculation, but, when every other avenue to success seemed closed, his thoughts would revert to insurance.

"If it holds out such opportunities for others, why not for me?" he asked. "If others have entirely overlooked the possibilities, why may not I be doing the same thing?"

He met the colonel on the street occasionally, and the way the colonel smiled at him was maddening. There could be no doubt that the colonel considered the game won, but he was not a man to take chances: he had Lake watched, and the latter's every move was reported to him. Even when Lake made another trip to Bington and endeavored to arrange a shrewd deal with some of the majority stock-holders, the colonel promptly heard of it.

"Accept my notes in payment for the stock," Lake urged on that occasion, "and I'll let you in on the profits of the deal. The traction company has got to get this road, but you can't hold it up for a big price, because you were foolish enough to give it a second option. I can do it, however. Let me have the stock, and you can divide up among yourselves half of all I get in excess of the option price. My notes will be paid, and you will have a bonus of twelve or fifteen thousand dollars."

But the stock-holders were conservative and cautious men, and the very fact that Lake could not command the money that he needed made them suspicious. As matters stood, they were sure of getting out of a losing venture with a small profit--at least, so it seemed to them--and they preferred that to the risk of losing everything in an effort to secure a larger profit. Furthermore, they were now on the side of the colonel, for his option was at a larger price. And the colonel was very confident--so confident that work was being rushed on details that would prove valueless without the Bington road. This was what made Lake desperately angry; it was humiliating to be treated as a helpless weakling.

As valuable time passed, his mind reverted again to the insurance field. His opportunity--the opportunity of a lifetime--was almost lost. The colonel, wishing to lose no time, had arranged for a meeting with certain of the majority stock-holders the day the first option expired. The option expired at noon, and the colonel would be ready to take over what stock he needed at one minute after the noon hour. This would not be very much, in view of the minority stock he already held, but the sanguine stock-holders did not know this: they expected him to take all of it.

"Some of them are going to find they're tricked, just as I am," Lake grumbled. "If I could only convince Belden of the ultimate absolute security of a loan! He wants to help me; he's ready to be convinced; but--"

People passing saw this moody, depressed young man stop short in the street and his eye light with sudden hope.

"By thunder!" he exclaimed. "Of course, I can protect him against unforeseen disaster, if he has confidence in my integrity!"

He was almost jubilant when he entered Belden's office.

"Got the money?" asked Belden.

"No; but I know how to get it," replied Lake. "You believe in my honesty, don't you?"

"Implicitly."

"You merely doubt my ability?"

"Your financial ability," explained Belden. "You will do what you agree to do--if you can. I have no earthly doubt of your willingness, even anxiety, to repay every obligation you may incur, but, added to other risks, there is the possibility of accident."

"If I eliminate that?"

"You may have the money."

"On long time?"

"The time and the terms are immaterial."

"I'll come for it later," announced Lake, and he departed, leaving Belden puzzled and curious.

Once outside, Lake stopped to do a little mental figuring before taking up the other details of his plan.

"I advanced five hundred to bind the option," he reflected. "That leaves nineteen thousand five hundred necessary to put the deal through. Twenty thousand from Belden will give me just the margin I need."

Murray was as much puzzled and surprised by the change in the man as Belden had been, and Murray, like Belden, was anxious to help him in any reasonably safe way.

"Am I good for five hundred for thirty days, if I give you my positive assurance that I know exactly how I am going to pay it in that time?" asked Lake.

"Why, yes," replied Murray. "On short-time figuring you're a pretty safe man."

"Draw me a check for it, and I'll give you my thirty-day note," said Lake, "and my verbal assurance that it's a cinch."

Murray noted the confidence of Lake's tone and manner, and drew the check.

"What are you going to do with it?" he asked.

"Pay a life insurance premium," laughed Lake. "Give me an application blank and round up a medical examiner. I want a twenty-year endowment policy for twenty thousand dollars, and I want it put through like a limited express that's trying to make up time."

"I suppose you know what you're doing," said Murray doubtfully.

"You bet I do!" Lake spoke confidently.

"Oh, very well," remarked Murray. "I don't see how I can refuse business for the company, even if I stand to lose."

"You won't lose," declared Lake with joyous enthusiasm. "I'm going to show you a new trick in the line of insurance financiering."

After that, Lake haunted Murray's office, and grew daily more anxious. He was a good risk, but certain formalities were necessary, and these took time, although Murray did his utmost to shorten the routine. Lake's nervousness increased; he had Murray telegraph the home office; he grew haggard, for he had not counted on this delay; but finally, in the moment of almost utter despair, the policy was delivered to him. An hour later he was in Belden's office.

"I want twenty thousand at four per cent., payable at the rate of one thousand a year, with interest!" he cried. "I'll pay it, to a certainty, within sixty days, but I'm trying to make it look more reasonable, to satisfy you. You believe I can pay one thousand a year, don't you?"

"If you live."

"If I don't," exclaimed Lake, "there is insurance for twenty thousand in my wife's favor, and duly assigned to you," and he banged the policy down on the desk in front of the astonished Belden. "You can trust me to take care of the premiums, can't you?"

"Your integrity I never doubted," replied Belden, "and that obligation should be within your means."

"My rule of life shall be: the premiums first, the payments on the note next," declared Lake. "If I fall behind in the latter, the security will still be good. I only ask that anything in excess of what may be due you, in case of my death, shall go to my wife, and she, of course, becomes the sole beneficiary the moment you are paid. But, for the love of heaven, hurry!"

Instead of hurrying, Belden leaned back in his chair and looked at the young man with bewildered admiration.

"Such ingenuity," he said at last, "ought not to go unrewarded. As a strict business proposition, your plan would hardly find favor with a conservative banker, but, as a matter of friendship and confidence--" He reached for his check-book. "Such a head as yours is worth a risk," he added a moment later.

Lake reached the office of the Bington road at 11:30 on the day his option expired. The colonel was already there, waiting. So were some of the majority stock-holders. The colonel was confident and unusually loquacious.

"Now that the matter is practically settled," he remarked with the cheerful frankness of a man who has won, "I may admit that the young man had us up a tree. He succeeded in putting the other route through Bington practically beyond our reach, and forced us to take the risk of doing business with the minority stock-holders at a possible dead loss. But we knew he didn't have the money, so we went ahead with our plans and our work without delay. A little ready cash--"

It was then that Lake entered and deposited a small satchel on the long table.

"I will take the stock under my option," he announced briefly to such of the majority stock-holders as were present. "I think I have got all I need, with the exception of what is represented by you gentlemen. It has been a pretty busy morning for me." He emptied the stock certificates already acquired and some bundles of bank-notes on the table. "Colonel," he said with a joyous and triumphant laugh, "you'd better sit up and begin to take notice."

The colonel's attitude and air of easy confidence already had changed, and his look of amazement and dismay was almost laughable.

"Quick, gentlemen," cautioned Lake, with a glance at the clock. "I've tendered the money in time, but I'll feel a little more comfortable when I have the rest of the needed stock."

Like one in a dream the colonel leaned over the table and watched the transaction.

"Do--do you want to sell some of that stock?" he asked at last.

"No," replied Lake; "I don't want to sell some of it; I want to sell all of it."

"We don't need all of it," said the colonel.

"Well, I'll tell you what I'll do," returned Lake magnanimously. "I'll sell you all or any part of it for fifty thousand dollars."

"On the basis of fifty thousand for your entire holdings?" asked the colonel.

"No; at the set price of fifty thousand for whatever you take."

"Too much," said the colonel.

"As you please," said Lake carelessly. "The price of the control of the Bington road goes up one thousand dollars a day. It's dirt cheap at fifty thousand now, but, of course, if you don't need it, Colonel, the bargain price doesn't interest you."

The colonel did need it; in fact, the company, in its sublime confidence, had put itself in a position where failure to get it meant a considerable loss.

"On second thought," remarked Lake, "I'll have to add a thousand to compensate me for the indignity of being called a half-baked financier. Do you remember that, Colonel?"

"We'll take it," said the colonel resignedly. Then he added reflectively: "You've made a pretty good thing out of this, Lake."

"Fair, fair," replied Lake. "After I've repaid the twenty thousand five hundred that I borrowed, I'll have thirty thousand five hundred left, not to mention an insurance policy for twenty thousand in favor of my wife, with the first premium paid. You ought to study the insurance question, Colonel. There are wonderful financial possibilities in it, and some day, perhaps, you will wake up to the fact that insurance beat you in this deal."

AN INCIDENTAL FAVOR

On the same day two women called to see Dave Murray in regard to the same matter, and that was the beginning of the trouble.

The first was Mrs. Albert Vincent. The obituary columns of the morning papers had given a few lines to the death of Albert Vincent, but Murray had not expected to hear from his widow so promptly, and she was a little too businesslike to meet his idea as to the proprieties of the occasion. In fact, there was no indication of either outward mourning or inward grief.

"Perhaps you will recall," she said, without the slightest trace of emotion, "that I wrote to you some time ago to ask if the premiums on my husband's insurance had been fully paid."

"I recall it," replied Murray.

"And you answered that they had been paid."

"I recall that also," said Murray.

"Well, he died last night," explained the widow, "and I would like to know when I can get the insurance money."

Murray looked at her in amazement. He had had to deal with many people whom necessity made importunate, but never before had he met such cold-bloodedness as this woman displayed in tone and manner. Apparently, it was no more to her than a business investment, upon which she was now about to realize.

"There are certain formalities necessary," he said, "but there will be little delay after proper proof of death has been filed. You will, of course, have the attending physician--"

"I don't know who he is," interrupted the woman.

"You don't know who he is!" repeated Murray in astonishment.

"No. But I will find out and see him at once. It is important that there shall be as little delay as possible."

Previous experiences made Murray quick at jumping to conclusions in such cases, and he now thought he had the explanation of this unusually prompt call. The woman was stylishly dressed, but that was no proof that she had the ready cash essential at such a time.

"I think I understand," said Murray delicately. "You can not meet the expenses incident to--"

"I have nothing to do with any expenses," the woman again interrupted coldly. "_She_ looked after him in life, and she can look after him now."

"She!" exclaimed Murray. "Who?"

"The nurse," replied the woman scornfully. "But she can't have the insurance--not a cent of it. And that's what she has been after."

"Let me understand this," said Murray thoughtfully. "You and your husband have not been living together?"

"Not for five years."

"And this other woman?"

"She was an old flame, and she went to him when he became ill."

"Did he send for you?"

"No. He knew better than to do that. But the insurance is in my name, and I'm going to have it--all of it. That's my right, isn't it?"

"Yes," replied Murray slowly; "I'm sorry to say that is your absolute right." The supreme selfishness and heartlessness of the woman were revolting to Murray. "The policy names you as beneficiary, and when it is presented, with proof of death, the money will have to be paid to you."

"How am I to get the policy?" asked the woman. "He had it put away somewhere."

"That is a matter upon which I can not undertake to advise you," replied Murray.

"Anyhow," declared the woman defiantly, for Murray's words and expression showed his disapprobation, "I want to serve notice on you that not one cent of the money is to be paid to any one else. It would be just like that nurse to try to get it."

"You shall have every cent to which you are entitled," replied Murray with frigid courtesy, "but nothing is to be gained by further discussion."

"I suppose," exclaimed the woman with sharp resentfulness, "that your sympathies are with that shameless nurse."

"I don't know," returned Murray quietly. "I'm not at all sure that your husband was not the one who was most entitled to sympathy."

It was unlike Murray to speak thus brutally, but the woman irritated him. Many were the examples of selfishness that had come to his notice, but this seemed to him a little worse than any of the others. That she had been living apart from her husband might be due to no fault of hers, but she impressed him as being a vain, vindictive, mercenary woman, with no thought above the rather gaudy clothes she wore--just the kind to demand everything and give nothing. Certainly her actions showed that she lacked all the finer sensibilities that one naturally associates with true women. No matter what might lie back of it all, common decency should have prevented her from making such a display of her own small soul at such a time. At least, so Murray thought.

"She is the kind of woman who marries a man's bank account," he mused, "and considers the inability to supply her with all the money she wants as the first evidence of incompatibility of temper. Some women think they want a husband when they really only want an accommodating banker."

Murray was still musing in this strain when the second woman called. Unlike the first, this woman gave some evidence of grief and mourning: her eyes showed that she had been weeping, and her attire, although not the regulation mourning, was as near to it as a scanty wardrobe would permit on short notice. But she was self-possessed, and spoke with patient resignation.

"Necessity," she explained, "has compelled me to come to see you at this time about Albert Vincent's life insurance policy."

"Oh!" exclaimed Murray thoughtlessly, "you are the nurse!"

"Yes," she replied quietly, after one startled look, "I am the nurse. I infer that Mrs. Vincent has been here."

"She has just left," said Murray.

"Her attentions," said the nurse bitterly, "have been confined to an effort to get prompt news of her husband's death."

Murray knew instinctively that a little drama of life was opening before him, but his duty was clear.

"Nevertheless," he said, "the policy is in her name."

"In her name!" cried the nurse. "Why, he told me--" Then she stopped short. She would not betray his perfidy, even if he had been false to her.

"What did he tell you?" asked Murray kindly.

"No matter," answered the nurse. "I--I only wanted enough to defray the--the necessary expenses. That's why I came. There isn't a cent--not a cent. Even the little money I had has been used, and there are debts--But she'll pay, of course."

Murray was deeply distressed. Mrs. Albert Vincent was so bitter--possibly with justification, although he did not like to believe it--that she would do nothing; her feeling was simply one of deep resentment that even death could not allay. But he hesitated to say so.

"Let me understand this matter a little better," he said at last. "I am sincerely anxious to be of any assistance possible, but the circumstances are unusual."

The nurse fought a brief battle with herself in silence. To bare the details of the story was like uncovering her heart to the world, but she saw the sympathy in Murray's eyes, and she was personally helpless in a most trying emergency. She sorely needed a guiding hand.

"Albert and I were engaged to be married," she said at last, with simple frankness. "We had some trifling quarrel, and then this woman came between us. He was not rich, but he had some property and excellent prospects, and--well, they were married. It was an elopement--a matter of momentary pique, he told me afterward. God knows I never tried to interfere with their married life, and she had no reason to be jealous of me. I did not even see either of them, except at rare intervals, for a long time, but she could not forget or forgive the fact that we had been a great deal to each other. And she was selfish and extravagant. I am merely repeating the judgment of her own friends in this, for I do not wish to be unjust to her, even now. After I had forsaken society and become a trained nurse I heard something of their troubles: they were living beyond his income, and his income did not increase according to expectations. Perhaps the worry of such conditions made him less capable of improving his opportunities. At any rate, her extravagance created a great deal of comment, and he has told me since that they quarreled frequently over financial matters. Then I heard that they had separated and that he had given her nearly all of the little he had left. I was not trying to keep track of them or pry into their affairs, but there were mutual friends, and I could not help hearing what was common gossip. But I studiously avoided any chance of meeting either of them--until I heard that he was sick and alone. Then I went to him and cared for him. It was not proper, you will say? Perhaps not. It put me in a false position and invited scandal? Perhaps it did. But I went, and I would go again; I was there to soothe his last moments; I was with him when all others had forsaken him, and there is nothing in this life that I would not sacrifice for the glory of that memory!"

The light of self-sacrificing love shone in her eyes as she made this final declaration, and Murray did not trust himself to speak for a moment or two. The story had been told so quietly, so simply, that the sudden emphasis at the conclusion was almost irresistible in the sublimity of its self-denying love. The great contrast between the two women made it all the stronger.

"I shall consider it my personal privilege," replied Murray, "to see that everything possible is done."

"Thank you," said the nurse.

"But there are still some points that will have to be cleared up," continued Murray. "What made you think the policy was in your name?"

"He told me he would have it changed, so that I could pay all the bills in case of his death," said the nurse.

"Possibly," remarked Murray, "he thought he could, but to permit a change in the beneficiary without the consent of the original beneficiary would be a blow at the very structure of life insurance. It would put a true and devoted wife at the absolute mercy of an unscrupulous or thoughtless husband: he could change the policy without her knowledge; he could sell it for the cash-surrender value; he could transfer it to a loan-shark to meet his personal or business needs--in fact, it would be no more than so much stock that could be reached by any creditor, and the trusting wife might find herself penniless. In this particular case the inability to make such a change may work injustice, but the ability to make it would work far greater injustice in practically all other instances. Mr. Vincent may have thought he could do this, and it is the very exceptional case when I most heartily wish it had been possible, but he doubtless made inquiries and found that it was not. When the beneficiary can be deprived of her interest without her knowledge and consent the value of insurance will be gone."

"Then that is what he learned," she remarked, as if a question had been answered. "He was dreadfully worried before he became too ill to give much thought to business matters," she added by way of explanation. "I thought it was because I was using my own little hoard to pay expenses, and, on the doctor's advice, I went with him twice in a cab to see about some things that were worrying him, although even then he had no business to leave his bed. It was the lesser of two evils, the doctor said, for his mental distress was affecting his physical condition seriously. He said he never could rest until he had provided for those who had been good to him in adversity. But he didn't mean me!" she exclaimed quickly. "He meant the doctor and some others who had been generous in the matter of credit. He knew why I--" She paused a moment, and then added: "But he wanted the others paid, and there was no one else he could trust."

"I quite understand," said Murray encouragingly.

"He made me stay in the cab both times," she went on, "and the second time--when he had me sign his wife's name--he seemed--"

"Had you sign his wife's name!" exclaimed Murray. "To what?"

"I don't know," she answered. "It was a formality, he said, to straighten out some tangle, so I did it. I would have done anything to ease his mind and get him back to bed."

Murray gave a low whistle. He was beginning to understand the situation.

"Pardon me, Miss--" he said.

"Miss Bronson--Amy Bronson," she explained.

Murray had heard of Miss Bronson some years before. She had suddenly given up society to become a trained nurse, and there had been vague rumors of an unhappy love affair. Later, her father's death had left her dependent upon her own resources, and society had commented on what a fortunate thing it was that she had already chosen an occupation and fitted herself for it. He never had known her, and only a bare suggestion of the story had come to his notice, but it was sufficient to make him more than ever her champion now.

"Miss Bronson," he said, "I fear there are greater complications here than I had supposed. Did Mr. Vincent get any money on either of those trips?"

"Yes. On the second he told me that he closed up an old deal, and he was more contented after that. After the first he was so dreadfully disturbed, that I never dared ask him any questions."

"Do you know where the insurance policy is?"

"No. I searched for it before coming here, but could find no trace of it."

Murray was as considerate as the circumstances would permit, but he had become suddenly business-like. Aside from the question of sympathy, the matter was now one to interest him deeply. He had been groping blindly before, but with light came the possibility of action.

"You are alone?" he asked.

"Entirely so."

"If you will go back," said Murray, reaching for his desk telephone, "Mrs. Murray will be there as soon as a cab can carry her. I would go myself, but I think I can be of better service to you for the moment by remaining here."

As soon as she had gone and he had telephoned to his wife, Murray made some inquiries of the clerks in the outer office and learned of a sick man who had asked about the possibility of changing the beneficiary of a policy. The visit had been made some time before, but the man was so evidently ill and in such deep distress that the circumstances had been impressed on the mind of the clerk who had answered his questions.

"That accounts for one trip," mused Murray. "Now for the loan-shark that he saw on the other. We'll hear from him pretty soon, and then there will be some lively times."

Murray had had experience with the ways of loan-sharks before, and he was confident that he now had the whole story. Vincent was out of money and desperate; he knew that Miss Bronson had been using her own money, and that not one cent of it would his wife pay back; he had tried to have the beneficiary of the policy changed, and had failed. Then, determined to get something out of the policy, he had gone to a loan-shark. The unscrupulous money-lender, getting an exorbitant rate of interest, could afford to be less particular about the wife's signature. He would run the risk of forgery, confident that the policy would be redeemed to prevent a scandal, no matter what happened. Indeed, in some cases a loan-shark would a little rather have a forgery than the genuine signature, for it gives him an additional hold on the interested parties and lessens the likelihood of a resort to law over the question of usurious interest.

"The scoundrel will come," said Murray, and the scoundrel came by invitation. A formal notification that he held an assignment of the policy arrived first, and that gave his name and address and enabled Murray to telephone him. A loan-shark does not lose much time in matters of this sort. Neither did Murray in this case, for his invitation to call was prompt and imperative, even to setting the exact time for the call. And a message was sent to Mrs. Albert Vincent, also.

"What's your interest in that policy?" asked Murray.

"A thousand dollars," replied the money-lender.

"A thousand dollars!" ejaculated the startled Murray. "What the devil did he do with the money?"

"That is something that does not concern me," said the money-lender carelessly.

The confidence and carelessness of the reply recalled Murray to a consciousness of the situation. He had a sharp and hard game to play with a clever and unscrupulous man.

"How much did you loan him?" he demanded.

"The note is for a thousand dollars," was the prompt reply.

"How much did you loan him, Shylock?" repeated Murray, and the money-lender was startled out of his complacent confidence.

"I didn't come here to be insulted!" he exclaimed. "I hold the policy and the assignment of it as security. If you can't talk business, as man to man, I'll quit and leave the matter to a lawyer."

"If you put one foot outside of that door," retorted Murray, "we'll fight this matter to a finish, Shylock, and we'll get some points on your business methods. Come back and sit down."

The money-lender had made a pretense of leaving, but he paused and met the cold, hard look of Murray. Then he came back.

"Of course, we take risks," he said apologetically.

"Mighty few," commented Murray uncompromisingly.

"If a man has security that is good at the bank he won't come to us," persisted the money-lender. "We have to protect ourselves for the additional risk."

"By getting a man to put himself in the shadow of the penitentiary," said Murray. "I know all about you people, Shylock. How much did you loan?"

The money-lender was angered almost to the point of defiance--but not quite. Loan-sharks do not easily reach that point: the very nature of their business makes it inadvisable, except when some poor devil is in their power.

"Oh, of course, if it's a personal matter with you," he said, "I might scale it a little. The note is for a thousand dollars, with various incidental charges that make it now a thousand and eighty dollars. I might knock off a hundred from that."

"How much did you loan him, Shylock?" repeated Murray.

"Nine hundred dollars," answered the money-lender in desperation.

"Shylock," said Murray with cold deliberation, "I know you people. If I didn't, I might ask to see the canceled check, but that would prove nothing. You give a check for the full amount, but the man has to put up a cash bonus when he gets it. How much did you loan him?"

"I'll stand on the note," declared the money-lender angrily. "I know my rights, and I can be as ugly as you. The note is signed by himself and his wife, and you'll have a hard time going back of it."

Murray touched a bell and a boy answered.

"Ask Mrs. Vincent to step in here," said Murray.

The money-lender was plainly disconcerted, but he was not unaccustomed to hard battles, so he nerved himself to bluff the thing through, it being too late to do anything else.

"Mrs. Vincent," said Murray, when the woman appeared, "I have found the insurance policy."

"Where is it?" she asked eagerly.

"Mr. Shylock,"--with a motion toward the money-lender,--"holds it."

"Give it to me, Mr. Shylock," demanded Mrs. Vincent, who was not a woman to grasp the bitter insult of the name, and her innocent repetition of it added to the anger of the man. Still, the habit of never letting his personal feelings interfere with business was strong within him.

"I must be paid first," he said.

"Paid!" she cried. "What is there to pay? The insurance money is mine!"

"I hold a note," insisted the money-lender.

"What's that to me?" she retorted. "Do you think I'm going to pay his debts? I didn't contract them; I wasn't with him; he left me years ago! Let _her_ look out for the debts! Give me the policy or I'll have you arrested!"

The woman was wildly and covetously excited: she would not rest easy until the actual possession of the money assured her that there was no possibility of a slip. The money-lender, too, was anxious. Murray alone seemed to be taking the matter quietly, for these two were now playing the game for him, although the details required his close attention. A very slight miscalculation might carry it beyond his control.

"It's assigned to me," said the money-lender with a pretense of confidence. "I have your signature."

"It's a lie!" she cried.

"Oh, no," interrupted Murray quietly; "it's a forgery."

"That woman!" exclaimed Mrs. Vincent. "She stole my name as well as my husband!"

"That man," corrected Murray. "He did it for the woman who did so much for him. He would have given her all, if he could."

Murray had reason to know that it was the nurse, but he lied cheerfully in what he considered a good cause. They were getting to the critical and dangerous point in the game he was playing: the widow would be merciless to the nurse.

"It's a forgery, anyway!" declared Mrs. Vincent. "I won't pay a cent!"

"I'll sue," said the money-lender threateningly.

"Well, sue!" she cried. "What do I care? You can't get anything on a forgery. I guess I know that much."

"It will make a scandal," said the money-lender insinuatingly.

"Let it," she retorted angrily.

They were again making points for Murray, each showing the weakness of the other's position, so Murray merely watched and waited.

"If there is another woman in the case," persisted the money-lender, who had been quick to grasp the significance of the previous remarks, "the shame and disgrace--"

"What do I care?" she interrupted. "The disgrace is for her."

"And for him," said the money-lender. "I can make him out a forger."

"It won't give you the money," she argued.

"It will make you the widow of a criminal," he threatened. "How would you like the disgrace of that? And the other things! If I have to go to court the whole scandal will be revealed and the very name you bear will be a shame! The widow of a forger! A woman who could not hold her husband! An object of pitying contempt, so small that she would not pay an honest debt to protect the name that is hers!" In his anxiety not to lose, the money-lender became almost eloquent in picturing possible conditions. No other sentiment or emotion could have given him this power. And he saw that the effect was not lost upon the woman, for no one knew better than she the harm the exploitation of the whole miserable story would do. Even a blameless woman can not entirely escape the obloquy that attaches to the name she bears, and there had been enough already to make it difficult for Mrs. Vincent to retain a position on the fringe of society. "Of course," he went on, "if you'd rather stand this than pay, there is nothing for me to do but leave and put the matter in the hands of a lawyer."

"Wait a minute, Shylock," interrupted Murray. "Mrs. Vincent is going to pay--something."

"Pay money that he got for _her_!" she exclaimed with sudden resentfulness. "She's the forger, anyway; I know it!"

"Did you ever see her, Shylock?" asked Murray.

"He came alone," replied the money-lender, "with the assignment of policy ready, and he swore to it."

"That settles that," said Murray with apparent conviction. "It would be a thankless task to try to prove that any one else forged the signature, and neither one of you is in a position to seek any court notoriety. Now, Shylock, after deducting the bonus and all trumped-up charges, how much did you loan?"

"Nine hundred dollars," said the money-lender desperately.

"Try again, Shylock," urged Murray. "You never loaned any such sum under any such circumstances."

"If you don't stop insulting me," exclaimed the money-lender angrily, "I'll quit right now and take my chances with the law."

"You haven't any chances with the law, Shylock," retorted Murray. "You can make a scandal, but you can't get a damn cent. That's why you're going to be reasonable. How much did you loan? You'd better be honest with me, for it's your only chance."

"I'll take eight hundred dollars, with the interest charges."

"You'll take an even seven hundred dollars," said Murray.

"But the interest!" cried the money-lender. "Don't I get any interest?"

"Aha!" exclaimed Murray. "I guessed it right, didn't I? That's just what you loaned. You see, others have hypothecated policies with you people, and I've learned something of the business. There are more peculiar deals tried with insurance policies than with any other form of security. But you don't get any interest, Shylock: you get your principal back, and you're lucky to get that."

"It's robbery!" complained the money-lender.

"It's generosity," said Murray. "You ought to lose it all."

"I won't pay it!" declared Mrs. Vincent, and Murray turned sharply to her.

"Mrs. Vincent," he said, "you will pay this sum to Shylock out of the policy, and you will pay all the bills, including the cost of the funeral, which I advanced. You will not do this as a matter of generosity, or even of justice, but from purely selfish motives. If you, being able to prevent it, permitted this scandal to come to light, you would be eternally disgraced: doors would be closed to you everywhere. God knows it is bad enough as it is, but this would make it infinitely worse. Even where no real blame attaches to her, there is always criticism and contempt for the woman who lets another take her husband from her, and a repudiation of the expenses of his last illness or any other bills, when you are getting the insurance, would condemn you absolutely in the eyes of all people who knew the circumstances. For this reason, you are going to do what I say, and you are going to make the necessary arrangements now. For similar selfish reasons, Shylock is going to do what I say, and he is going to make the necessary arrangements now. If either of you balk at the terms, I'll drop the whole matter and let you fight it out, to your mutual trouble and loss."

Neither dared take the risk, for each feared that, without Murray, the other would gain the advantage. Neither was in a position to defy the other, and Murray had forced concessions from each that the other could not. He was clearly master of the situation.

"Do you accept the terms?" he demanded. "If not, get out!"

"It's brutal, outrageous!" declared the woman.

"A swindle!" exclaimed the man.

"That will do, Shylock," cautioned Murray. "There is nothing to be said except 'yes' or 'no' and only thirty seconds in which to say that. I've reached the limit of my patience."

He took out his watch and began to count the seconds.

* * * * *

When they were gone Murray sent for Amy Bronson, the nurse.

"I was just coming to see you," she explained when she arrived. "I finally found a note hidden away among Albert's effects. It contained five one hundred-dollar bills and the scribbled line, 'I have tried to do more for you, but can not.'"

"I didn't see how he could have spent all the money," mused Murray.

"Now I can pay the bills," she said.

"No," said Murray. "A memorandum of all that he owed is to be sent to me. Mrs. Vincent will pay everything."

"Mrs. Vincent!" cried the nurse. "Impossible! I couldn't have so misjudged her."

"I don't think you misjudged her," returned Murray, "but,"--whimsically,--"I'm a wonder at argument. You ought to hear me argue. Mrs. Vincent decided to take my view of the matter with the insurance."

"But the five hundred dollars!" said Miss Bronson.

"Keep it," said Murray. "He intended it for you, and it is little enough. I'm only sorry that the ten-thousand-dollar policy is not for you, also, but it is one of the incidental hardships that arise from an ordinarily wise provision of the law."

The nurse's lip quivered and the tears came to her eyes.

"I was an entire stranger to you, Mr. Murray," she said, "but you have been very good to me when I most needed a friend. I--I don't know how I can--"

"I have been amply repaid for all I have done," said Murray.

"How?" she asked in surprise.

"I have had the royal satisfaction," he answered, "of compelling an unscrupulous man and a selfish woman to do a fairly creditable thing; I have had the joy of showing my contempt for them in my very method of doing this."

She did not quite understand, her gratitude making her blind to all else at the moment.

"And also," added Murray to himself, when she had gone, "the great satisfaction of saving a devoted woman from the consequences of at least one of her acts of devotion. Forgery is a serious matter, regardless of the circumstances."

AN INCIDENTAL ERROR

"It's mighty awkward," said Owen Ross, the insurance solicitor.

"It is," admitted Dave Murray.

"I've been after him for over six months," persisted Ross, "and now, after urging him persistently to take out a policy, I have got to tell him that we won't give him one. That would be hard enough if he had sought us out, and it's ten times as hard when we have sought him. Why, it looks as if we were playing a heartless practical joke on him."

"But it can't be helped," said Murray. "It's one of the disagreeable features of the business. We convince a man that it's to his interest to carry life insurance, and then we tell him he can't have any. Naturally, from his prejudiced viewpoint, we seem to be contemptibly insincere and deceitful."

"Of course, we are in no sense shortening his life," remarked Ross, "but it seems like pronouncing a sentence of death, just the same. He is sure to make an awful row about it."

"One man," said Murray reminiscently, "fell dead in this office when his application was refused. The shock killed him, but there was no way to avoid giving him the shock. However, that was an exceptional case: I never knew of another to succumb, although it must be admitted that the news that one is destined not to live long is distressing and depressing."

"What's the reason for refusing Tucker?" asked Ross.

"There are several reasons," replied Murray. "The physician reports heart murmur, which indicates some latent trouble that is almost certain to develop into a serious affection."

"May not the physician be wrong?"

"He is paid to be right, but, of course, we are all liable to make mistakes, and it can't be denied that heart murmur is deceptive. I've known men to be the subject of unfavorable reports at one hour of the day and most favorable ones at another. The occupation immediately preceding the examination may develop symptoms that are normally absent. However, I would not feel justified in accepting this application, even if the report were favorable."

"Why not?" demanded Ross.

"The amount of insurance he wishes to carry would make him worth more dead than alive, which is a condition of affairs that an insurance company dislikes." Murray became reminiscent again. "I recall one such risk," he went on. "The man found the premiums a greater burden than he could carry, so he died."

"Suicide!" exclaimed Ross.

"Oh, no," replied Murray, with a peculiar smile; "merely a mistake. But, if you will put yourself in that man's place, you will see how the mistake could happen. He was carrying twenty-five thousand dollars of insurance, and he wasn't worth twenty-five cents at the time, owing to some recent reverses. He was ill, but was not considered dangerously ill. Still, he was depressed, believing apparently that he would not recover and knowing that he had not the money for the next premium. If he died before a certain date there would be twenty-five thousand dollars for his wife and children; if he died after that date there would be comparatively little. Now, in imagination, just assume the problem that confronted that man on a certain night: twenty-four hours of life for him meant a future of privation for his wife, if he did not recover and prosper, while immediate death for him meant comfort for those he loved. Picture yourself contemplating that prospect while lying weak and discouraged in the sick-room, with various bottles--one labeled 'Poison'--within reach. A poison may have medicinal value when properly used, you know, but what more natural than that you should make a mistake in the gloom of the night while the tired nurse is dozing? It is so easy to get the wrong bottle--to take the poison instead of the tonic--and it solves a most distressing problem. A drop of the poison is beneficial; a teaspoonful is death; and the tonic is to be taken in large doses." Murray paused a moment to let the terrible nature of the situation impress itself on Ross. Then he added quietly: "We paid the insurance, although the timeliness of the accident did not escape comment. The same mistake twenty-four hours later would not have had the same financial result. Now, do you understand why I would not care to put fifty thousand dollars on the life of Tucker, even if he were physically satisfactory? Unexpected reverses may make any man worth more dead than alive, but we seldom contribute knowingly to such a condition of affairs. It isn't prudent. While the average man is not disposed to shorten his life to beat an insurance company, it isn't wise to put the temptation in his way unless you are very sure of your man."

"Well, we needn't explain that to Tucker," said Ross.

"No," returned Murray. "We can put the whole thing on the basis of the physician's report."

"I wish you would break the news to him," urged Ross. "You can do it with better grace, for you were not instrumental in getting him to put in his application. He'll be up here to-day."

"Oh, very well," returned Murray. "I'll see him when he comes."

Though the task was far from pleasant, Murray had been long enough in the business to take matters philosophically. One must accustom oneself to the disagreeable features of any occupation, for there is none that is entirely pleasurable.