The Midnight Passenger by Richard Henry Savage

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Clayton was but too well aware that his only weapon was his knowledge
of Ferris' secret marriage--an outrage upon Alice Worthington's
unguarded girlhood.

And yet he dared not openly use that weapon; how easy for the old
capitalist to frame a suave excuse for the "maimed rites" of that
Western bridal.

One longing burned now in Clayton's heart, the honest wish to find
some dignified and safe place of meeting with the woman upon whom
he would shower the gold soon to be his own.

"If anything should happen," he thought.

Of course, his own face was too well known to adopt any mere hiding
tactics. Irma was ever fearful of her jealous artist guardians,
and in this lovely evening hour the lover's heart rose up in all
its stormy tendeness to beg her to lift the veil from her incognito.

Even while they murmured again their vows and drifted away into
dreams of the unclouded future, the heavens were blackening around
them.

Irma seemed strangely frightened as she cowered in her lover's
arms, while he begged her to lift the veil of her privacy.

"I must be with you--near you," he cried. "Listen! I have even
now grave matters hanging over me which may summon me suddenly
away from you. You know not my abode. You cannot write or telegraph
safely to my office.

"There are veiled spies, jealous rivals, there, who would rob me
of place, power, and the money which will yet be ours, in the dear
far-off Danube land.

"You have been ill, distressed," he fondly said. "Nay, do not deny
it! Madame Raffoni has told me all."

"My God!" whispered Irma. "She has told you"--

"Only that you have suffered, my darling," said Clayton, folding
her to his breast.

"Ah! I must make an end of it!" the loyal lover cried, as Irma lay
sobbing on his breast. "If I could only come to you; how shall I
know? Can you trust no one? There is Madame Raffoni," said Clayton.

"She knows where my office is. I have bribed her, with flattery
and a few little kindnesses, to come and tell me of you, several
times, when we have been separated in these long weeks. We have
not even gone to the 'Bavaria'; I have shown her my office. I care
not to force myself upon your loyal secrecy. I respect the promise
upon which your artistic future depends; but think of me. If you
were ill, and we were separated by Fate, I should go mad! I could
not live! Can you not trust her to bring me to you?" Fear and love
were striving now in the singer's throbbing heart.

The Magyar witch clasped her arms around her gallant lover in
a mad access of tenderness. "And you do love me so, Randall," she
cried, in a storm of tears.

"More than my life," said the man who now felt her heart beating
wildly against his own.

"Ah! God!" sobbed Irma. "If we had only met in other days, in
another land, in my own dear country!"

"Listen, Irma," pleaded Clayton. "I will soon take you away, far
over the seas."

"In a few weeks I shall be free, and you shall be my own, my very
own! For I will then come to you, free to give you all that life
and love can give.

"But promise me now that Madame Raffoni shall lead me to you if
you need me. You can trust her. I will come to her home. I cannot
bear this agony, and I am watched, also!"

Even as he spoke, the heavens blackened and a stormy drift of rain
swept athwart the sky. There was a muttering roll of thunder. The
white-crested waves dashed menacingly upon the shore!

Irma Gluyas clung to her lover as the affrighted Madame Raffoni came
rushing toward them for shelter in the storm. The red lightning
flashed, and the fury of the storm was upon them. It was a wild
tempest which raged around them. The women were helpless with
fear.

In despair, Randall Clayton gazed at the distant hotels; there was
shelter and safety. But now a new fear beset him. His well-known
identity, Irma's marked beauty, the strange attendant duenna, there
would be certain discovery and scandal. And he would be Ferris'
easy victim if discovered.

Irma Gluyas shrieked as she clung to her lover and bade him save
her as the wild lightning bolts rent the darkness. It was a horrid
elemental tumult!

A few hundred yards away a heavy closed carriage was slowly creeping
along the drive between the hotels. "Run for your life!" shouted
Clayton to the eager Madame Raffoni. "Stop that carriage. Offer
him anything, everything! I will carry her. I must save her."

Bending himself to the task, Clayton raised the fainting form of
Irma Gluyas. Her long hair lowered, swept around her in the storm;
her sculptured arms clung to him, and her warm heart thrilled him
as he sped on through the driving torrent. He was possessed with
Love's last delirium.

In the violence of the storm, Clayton could only motion "forward"
as he closed the door of the carriage and the frightened horses
set off at a mad gallop. The inmates of the carriage never saw the
bridge as the vehicle swayed from side to side in the blue-flamed
lightning flashes.

They were nearing Brooklyn when, in the still driving storm,
Clayton descended and procured some restoratives at a pharmacy.

He poured a draught of strong wine between the affrighted woman's
pallid lips, and then whispered, "You must tell me where to take
you. It is life or death now."

And then Irma Gluyas, her head resting on Madame Raffoni's bosom,
feebly whispered, "To my home, 192 Layte Street."

There was not a word spoken as, in the midnight darkness of the
storm, the horses struggled along until, under the shelter of the
high houses, the carriage stopped before the desolate-looking old
mansion.

There was a look of terror on Madame Raffoni's face which was not
lost upon Clayton. "Get the door open," he hoarsely cried. "I will
carry her in. Then, I swear to you, I will leave her at once."

The strong man sprang from his place, and in a few moments he stood
within the veiled splendors of the old drawing-room.

Kneeling by the bed, wherein he had deposited the senseless woman,
Clayton chafed her marble hands in an agony of despair.

But, even in his lover's exaltation, he listened to Madame Raffoni,
who knelt before him in passionate adjuration. "Go, go!" she cried
in broken pathos. "I will come to you to-morrow."

And she dragged him to the door. "I will all do; everything! I
swear! Yes! Yes!! Yes!!!"

With one last despairing look, raining passionate kisses upon the
marble lips of the woman he loved, Randall Clayton left the dusky
magnificence of the superb apartment, and only halted at the door
long enough to whisper to the Raffoni, "Bring me to her to-morrow,
and I will make you rich!"

And the poor woman dumbly covered his hands with obedient kisses.
"Go, go!" she cried. "I will come!"

And, touched with the woman's frantic fears, Randall Clayton sprang
into the carriage. Through the blinding storm he had reached the
New York side before he thought of his own movements, of the morrow,
of his coming friend, and of his wary enemies.

Then he resolutely made up his mind to fight the warring Fates to
a finish.

He drove to the Astor House, dismissed his driver with a ransom
fee, and there hid himself in an upper room.

When he presented himself at the half-deserted office of the Western
Trading Company, upon the next morning, he was clad in unfamiliar
garb.

His blood-shot eyes told of a vigil of mental suffering, and he
dared say nothing as he gruffly bowed when Mr. Somers told him of
Robert Wade's continued illness.

"I am going down to the election," said the old accountant. And
so you will be in charge, as Mr. Ferris has not been heard from.
There is no one here but you to represent the management."

"Trapped," muttered Clayton, who listened every moment for some
tidings of the woman whose silken hair had wound its delicate meshes
around him in the storm. "Dying; dead, perhaps," he groaned, in an
agony of excitement, and then and there he swore that, upon the
arrival of Witherspoon he would leave the cave of his enemies, await
his fate, and bear Irma Gluyas away to farther and fairer lands.

The long morning dragged on in a semi-stupor as he sat there
listening to the hollow footfall of the casual passers-by.

And yet there was no word from Madame Raffoni, the only holder of
the secret of Irma Gluyas' life. His foot was on the threshhold to
leave at last, when Arthur Ferris calmly entered.

Randall Clayton mastered himself with a mighty effort, as Ferris
glibly murmured, "I am only here for a few moments! Come into the
private office."

The few minutes before they were at their ease in Robert Wade's
impregnable sanctum enabled Clayton to steel himself against the
secret bridegroom's duplicity. Clayton's quick eye noted Ferris'
satchel, his top-coat and umbrella carelessly thrown down on Wade's
reading-table.

"Have you been at the rooms?" carelessly remarked Clayton, tossing
Ferris' private keys upon the table. "No," curtly replied Ferris.
"I came here directly from the train. I wished to stop and see my
mother and sister; but Wade's illness has upset all my plans.

"I have to go on to Philadelphia at once on some private business
for the Chief. You know he is a very heavy stockholder in the Cramp
Shipbuilding Company. I will not be back for several days."

"And what about the election?" deliberately replied Clayton, now
anxious to draw his enemy out. "I have nothing to do with that,"
said Ferris, dropping his eyes to veil a slight agitation. "Wade
has all that in charge, and he has given Somers his proxy."

"I thought that you held Worthington's private power of attorney,"
stoutly said Randall Clayton.

"Only for his outside matters, Clayton," coaxingly said Ferris.
"The fact is, we may expect many changes. Hugh has several plans
of great importance in his mind.

"Yes; I have lived in an atmosphere of change for some time, Ferris,"
said Clayton, bluntly. "I have only been waiting for your return
to consult with you about giving up our joint apartment.

"I reserved that privilege on May 1st, and you can either keep the
rooms or sublet them. I have paid the rental for the last three
months in your absence."

"See here, Clayton," sharply said Ferris, throwing off the mask.
"I am not a man for any mysteries. I don't know why I should be
forced to tell you things that I do not know myself.

"Now, I will be several days busy with these outside matters at
Philadelphia. You had the one opportunity of your life the other
day.

"I expect that you will have reconsidered your refusal to Wade,
to obey Hugh Worthington's orders by my return."

"So you know all about it, do you?" fiercely retorted Randall Clayton.
"I fancied that Wade was dealing directly with Hugh, himself, by the
tone of the Chief's letters and the telegrams which I have received."

"The matter has been referred to me," hotly answered Ferris, who
dared not openly use his new power. "But I will not wait here to
discuss this matter. I may miss my train."

Arthur Ferris sharply rang a bell, and then, with a nod of recognition,
directed the young Einstein to take his traps down stairs and call
him a carriage.

The door clanged and the two secret enemies were left facing each
other.

"I had fancied," said Clayton, bitterly, "that a lifetime spent
in Hugh Worthington's service would at least win me a dismissal at
first hands.

"Wade has tried to force me to throw up a position for which I was
previously named by Worthington. I imagined that the Chief was
really going abroad. He seems to have changed his plans. I have no
means of reaching him direct.

"And now, sir, you will find the keys of our rooms with the janitor
on your return. All that I wish to know is whether I shall deal
with you or Wade in giving my final answer to the suspended orders
for me to go West."

"You stand ready to throw up a life position?" harshly cried Ferris,
white with secret rage pausing with his hand on the door.

"I shall certainly wait until I hear from Mr. Worthington,"
gravely answered Clayton. "It matters little about me. Your own
life position is secure!"

"What do you mean by that?" cried Ferris, springing forward in a
sudden anger which made him forget all his plans of crafty concealment.

But the tall Westerner, with one wave of his arm, swept Ferris'
delicate form away from the door and passed out of the presence of
the budding capitalist.

Arthur Ferris cast stealthy glances to right and left as he sought
the elevator. He breathed freer when he reached the sidewalk.

Fortunately, no one had overheard the unseemly quarrel.

His hand was on the carriage door when his glances fell upon the
questioning face of Emil Einstein.

"Anything further, sir?" demanded the eager office boy. "Yes! Jump
in with me and ride down to the Pennsylvania Ferry. I may need
you."

Ferris' brain was in a whirl. He had intended to double around
and reach Wade's house, where he was a secret guest, during the
excitable ordeal of the election.

Too well he knew the dangers of setting his own foot in Wall Street.
Keen brokers, great operators, lynx-eyed newspaper reporters would
soon corner him.

His slightest word would be misconstrued, and there was still time
for some unforeseen plot before the polls of the stockholders'
election closed at three o'clock.

Clayton's defiant manner had aroused his jealousy to a keen rage.
"Does the fool know anything of my marriage?" he mused. "How could
he?" Ferris smiled, for his girl wife was still in Tacoma, by her
father's side, and the marriage had been a secret one.

The crafty lawyer hated Clayton, at heart, for too well he knew that
no word clouding Clayton's character could be uttered unchallenged
in Alice Worthington's presence.

Once he had tried, to probe her opinions, with faint sneers, but
his voice had died away under the indignant protest of the heiress.

"I do not know who has poisoned my father's mind," resolutely said
the Little Sister, "but Randall Clayton has been the brother of my
heart, and always will be. If he had never left us we would all
be happier to-day."

The clear-browed woman did not know how truly this arrow had sped
to its mark. It silenced forever Arthur Ferris, and lent a new
caution to the scheming plans of the old money grabber.

"If I only had my cipher book," was the first thought of the excited
Ferris, "I must telegraph to Hugh and put him on his guard. What
the devil can Clayton have picked up?"

There was yet two weeks before the final arrangement of the "great
deal," and the repayment of the two millions could be substantially
arranged.

As the carriage dashed along to the Christopher Street Ferry, Ferris
rapidly made up his plan of action. "I can go over to Taylor's
Hotel at Jersey City. Old Somers will cast the majority vote at a
quarter of three.

"I can call him up at the down-town office by telephone, and then
telegraph direct to old Hugh at Tacoma.

"And Wade must come over to me at Philadelphia and spend a day or
so, for appearance's sake. But a light rein is needed for this wild
ass of the West, Clayton. Oh! to have him out there in Cheyenne
for one month.

"Yes! By Jove, I have it! Hugh must invite him to meet him there.
I will telegraph him, and the old man can smooth Clayton down."

A sudden desire to know of Randall Clayton's private life seized
upon Ferris, who already contemplated a sweet revenge. "Damn
him! I must keep him and Alice apart. She would side with him, on
sentimental grounds. But, as soon as I get back, I can cipher Hugh
that he must settle this fellow, in some way, on that Western visit.
The old fox can find a way, and both Alice and I will be out of
it."

Deliberately selecting two one hundred dollar bills from his wallet,
Arthur Ferris held them up to the astonished gaze of Einstein.
"Mr. Clayton has been a little strange in his behavior lately," he
said. "In some tiff he has thrown up his old rooms, and is going
to move. I will be away three or four days. When I come back, I
want to know just where he is located, and--all about him; who his
friends are, and so on. There is more where this came from."

"I understand," smoothly answered Emil, pocketing the bills with
a grin.

In the meantime Ferris had scribbled a few words on a card. He stopped
the carriage. "Jump out and take a coupe, and get instantly down to
Wall and Broad. You'll find Mr. Somers waiting in the election-room.
Tell him not to leave there till I get him on the 'phone from
Jersey City. And my address you can give him as Lafayette House,
Philadelphia. I'll be there three days." The lie was deliberate,
and even the triple spy believed him.

The long hours crawled away while Randall Clayton resolutely paced
his lonely office. Only the busy under-accountants came in now and
then for a word of directions, and the ticking of the office clock
sounded like the hollow tapping of hammers upon coffin-lids to the
solitary man who was crazed with his loving anxiety to hear from
the woman who now ruled his every thought.

He forgot the absence of Einstein in his eager waiting for some
intelligence of the woman whom he had shielded from the storm. Poor
Madame Raffoni had mumbled some obscure words about "die herz-kranke."

"Heartsick, my God! I am heartsick," cried Randall Clayton. "And,
she may be alone; there may be no one to send."

Clayton tried to recall the last directions which he had given
to the disguised Leah Einstein. All that he could recall was the
murmured pledge, "I will come, I will come!"

The lover's heart told him that Ferris' spies would now follow in
his every movment. He lingered, in a trance of agony, until long
after the parchment-faced Somers had returned from Wall and Broad
Street.

"It was a very quiet election," murmured Somers, who started at the
appearance of the young man's haggard face. He was astonished to
see Clayton lingering there to the confines of darkness.

The faithful old tool of Mammon had crawled back to turn all his
combination knobs and cast a last glance over the rooms into which
his life had grown as the silkworm into its cocoon.

"You must go away, my boy," kindly said old Somers, "you need a
long rest."

"Yes, yes," mournfully replied Clayton, thinking of the five days
of agony before Jack Witherspoon would arrive to run the gauntlet
of the treacherous Ferris. "I must go away--go away--and, have a
long, long rest!"

The old accountant watched his listless steps as he departed. "Head
or heart--which?" he murmured. "That man is in a bad way."

CHAPTER VII.

"THIS MAY BE MY LAST BANK DEPOSIT."

There was an air of supreme content upon the usually impassive face
of Arthur Ferris when he hung the receiver of the public telephone
up upon its hook, at precisely fifteen minutes past three o'clock,
in the office of Taylor's Hotel.

The astonished girl gazed admiringly after the young lawyer, when
he dropped a two-dollar bill into her hand, saying, "Never mind
the change."

"It's my lucky day," murmured Ferris, as he sought the telegraph
office. The measured words of Accountant Somers were still ringing
in his ears:

"A very quiet election; no opposition to our ticket. Directors'
meeting pro forma. Vice-President Selden cast majority vote
for new officers. Reports endorsed. Selden, president; yourself,
vice-president; Hugh Worthington, managing director. New officers
published to-morrow. Too late for afternoon press. Will go and
report to Mr. Wade."

The first official act of Vice-President Arthur Ferris had been
to order Accountant Somers to send a cheque for one month's extra
salary to each of the office force, and then to add, "I shall
be in Philadelphia for some days, remember; Lafayette House. Use
telegraph business cipher only. I will be too busy to come to the
telephone. Shall be at Cramp's yards taking a look with a view to
further investments there."

No flush of triumph colored Arthur Ferris' pale face as he pondered
over his dispatch to Hugh Worthington. He suddenly paused, with
his pencil in the air.

"By God! I have it! We will soft-soap this fellow. Violence in
quarrel is always a clumsy mistake. I need to keep in touch with
Clayton; at least, until old Hugh gets his claws upon him. What if
the fool resigns and throws all up in a huff? There is no way to
lure him out West then. It would not do to have anything happen to
him here. And I'll ring in the Auld Lang Syne a bit, also."

He smiled artfully as he read over his two telegrams before handing
them to the waiting operator. The anaemic girl was sadly disappointed
in their tenor. She had scented an intrigue in the presence of the
dapper young lawyer with his distinctly clubman air.

"Pshaw! only business," she murmured, as she dashed her hand into
the cash till for the change of a five-dollar bill.

But Arthur Ferris' resolute eyes recalled her to duty, as he
impatiently said, "Repeat them both back to me, at Lafayette House,
Philadelphia. Take out the extra charge, and please give me a press
copy of each."

"I'll run over to Philadelphia, drop in at the clubs, have a good
time, and then disappear via Pittsburgh 'for New York,'" he said.
"It will give time for Randall Clayton to cool off. And, after
all, the smooth way is the best way. I can hold him over till Hugh
works him 'on the easy pulley.'"

He was proud of these two telegrams, as he sat at his carefully-chosen
early dinner. He read them over with a secret glee.

"He is ours. No one can snatch him from our clutches. The old man
can cajole him with Alice's wish that he should join the family
party. That'll fetch him. Fool! that he did not make the running
while she was at his side. The 'Sister' business is always a rank
failure. But he has made me a millionaire for life."

Arthur Ferris had no pity for the man whose life secrets he
had sapped in those four long years of treason to friendship. He
recalled with a secret complacence the steps which had led him,
bit by bit, into Hugh Worthington's confidence, through the frank
disclosures of Clayton.

And so, fortified by the single-hearted man's intimate relations
with the Detroit household, Arthur Ferris had taken up every thread
as it slipped through Clayton's busy fingers.

The knowledge that he would enjoy Randall Clayton's real patrimony;
that he had stolen a charming wife from the man who was bound by
an unearned gratitude to Worthington, made this hour of triumph a
most delicious one.

"Old Hugh needed me; he needed a man who would be a safe intermediary
with Durham; one who was a Safe Deposit for both senator and
millionaire.

"Now I hold every trump in life, and Clayton, the dolt, has thrown
away his fortune and made mine."

Then the thin-lipped lawyer recalled Balzac's remark, "One, in
order to succeed, must either cut one's way through life like a
sword, or glide through the world quietly like a pestilence."

"I'll let Hugh use the sword," he laughed, as he enjoyed his
well-warmed Chamberton. "I am beyond all the storms of Fate now.

"What more could I desire? On the road to a million, a charming girl
wife, one whom I can mould like clay, and Durham and Worthington
can easily send me to Congress." He saw the Senate chamber opening
to him, through the rosy light of the wooing Burgundy.

And again his eye sought the telegrams. "Not a word to alter," and
he smiled as he read.

"Hugh Worthington,

"Palace Hotel, Tacoma:--

"A quiet election. All arranged. New officers published to-morrow.
Telegraph Clayton to meet you at Cheyenne for conference. Have Alice
join. Suggest month's vacation. He is irritable and suspicious.
Full code telegrams to you at Cheyenne. Will wait here until you
have met him and disposed of his case."

Ferris had added a key-word, which no one would suspect meant
"Imminent danger," and signed an alias known to Hugh Worthington
alone.

But to Randall Clayton his Judas words of brotherly cordiality were
as frank and open as the unsuspecting nature of the defrauded man
demanded.

The unhappy Clayton was troubled at heart as he opened this yellow
paper, livid with its living lie, as he waited aimlessly at his
rooms for some tidings from Emil Einstein, whose long absence had
astonished him.

In the lonely rooms, with his eyes fixed on Irma Gluyas' superb
artist proof, Clayton gave himself easily up to Ferris' crafty
subterfuge.

He had already repented the violent quarrel. "This marriage may
be a mere rumor," he mused. "Jack Witherspoon must make his words
good when he comes."

He had already half determined to frankly meet Hugh Worthington
with a demand for a clearing up of the whole mystery of his youthful
dependence.

The telegram from Jersey City disarmed all his resentment. It was
addressed:

"Dear Old Boy: Forget hasty words. Am tired with travel; worn out.
Remember the old friendship. Stay in our rooms. Will return in
three days. You shall choose your way to arrange with Worthington.
If you wish to stay on here, I'll telegraph jointly with you. Meet
me at dinner Monday night, Century Club."

When he had read the last words, "Answer, Lafayette House,
Philadelphia," Randall Clayton went out into the early evening
and listlessly dispatched the words, "All right. Will stay on as
requested," and then he slowly returned to his rooms. On his return
he found Emil Einstein awaiting him before his door.

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