Part 31 (1/2)

CHAPTER XXI.

MIDNIGHT WORK.

”Ting-a-ling-ling,” said Mr. Stephens' door-bell just before midnight.

Mr. Stephens glanced up in surprise from the paper which he was studying and hesitated a moment. Who could be ringing his bell at that late hour?

Presently he stepped out into the hall, slipped the bolt and admitted Theodore Mallery. The young man followed his employer into the brightly-lighted library; it was the same room, with the same furnis.h.i.+ngs that it had worn that evening when he, a forlorn, trembling boy, had made his first call, and at midnight, on Mr. Stephens.

”What unearthly business brought you out at this hour?” said the wondering Mr. Stephens.

”Premonitions of evil,” answered Theodore, laughing. ”Do you believe in them?” And he glanced about the familiar room, and dropped himself into the great arm-chair, where he remembered to have seated himself once at least before.

”What is the matter with this room?” he asked, as his eyes roved over the surrounding. ”Something looks different.”

”I have been having a general clearing out and turning around of furniture since you were in--moved the books and rubbish out of that corner closet for one thing, and prepared it for those closed ledgers.

Good place, don't you think?”

”Has it strong locks?” asked Theodore, glancing around to the closet in question.

”Splendid ones, and is built fire-proof.”

Theodore took in both the lock and the fact that the key was in it.

”An excellent place for them,” he answered. ”Is there anything in it now?”

”No, empty. What brought you here, Mallery? I hope you have no more work for me to do to-night. I was just thinking of my bed.”

”A very little, sir. I have those papers ready for your signature, and it occurred to me if you could add that to-night I could get them off by the early mail.”

”What an indefatigable plodder you are to get those papers ready so soon, and an unmerciful man besides to make me go over them to-night.

What will ten or a dozen hours signify?”

”I don't know,” answered Theodore, gravely. ”Great results have arisen from more trivial delays than ten or a dozen hours.” Then he looked straight before him, apparently at the mirror, but really at the closet door. It was closed when he looked before; it was very slightly ajar now. Wind? No, there _was_ no wind within reach; it was a surly November night, and doors and windows were tightly closed.

”Then there is really no escape for me?” yawned Mr. Stephens, in an inquiring tone.

”None whatever,” answered Theodore, playfully. ”It won't take you half an hour, sir, and you know it is a very important matter, involving not only ourselves but others.”

”True,” said Mr. Stephens, more gravely. ”Well, pa.s.s them along.”

And while Theodore obeyed the order, and appeared engrossed in the papers, he was really watching that closet door. It certainly moved, very slightly and noiselessly, and it certainly was not the wind, for the wind had no eyes, and at least one very sharp eye was distinctly discernible in the mirror, peering out at them from that door! The owner of the eyes seemed to have forgotten the long mirror, and Theodore's convenient position for seeing what pa.s.sed behind him. Whose eye was it?

and why was the possessor of it shut up in that closet? Theodore watched it stealthily and sharply. It grew bolder, and the door was pushed open a little more, a _very_ little, just enough to reveal the shape of the forehead and a few curls of black hair. Then suspicion became certainty--they belonged to the young man whom he had disliked and distrusted since the day in which he had first entered the employ of Mr. Stephens, six months before. Very strange and just a little unreasonable had seemed his distrust. Mr. Stephens had tried sober argument and good-humored raillery by turns to convince his confidential clerk that he was prejudiced. All to no purpose. Theodore could give no tangible reasons for his unwavering opinion; but his early living by his wits, among all sorts of people, had so sharpened his ideas that he felt almost hopelessly certain that a villain was being harbored among them.

Now while he tried to answer coherently Mr. Stephens' questions, he was thinking hard and nervously what was to be done. What was the man's object in hiding at midnight in his employer's house? Was Mr. Stephens'

life in danger? Was the man a murderer, or simply a thief? What did he know of their private affairs? What had Mr. Stephens in his house that proved a special temptation? How should he get all these questions answered? The hot blood surged to his very temples as he remembered Mr.

Stephens' departure from the store that very afternoon with twenty thousand dollars for deposit. What if for some reason the deposit had not been made, and was still in Mr. Stephens' possession--in this very room perhaps! He remembered with a s.h.i.+ver that the young man in question was in the private office during the making up of the money package, and that Mr. Stephens talked freely before him, that they had gone out together, that Mr. Stephens had directed his clerk to walk down to the bank with him while he gave certain orders for the next day's business.

Should he risk a bold question and so discover the truth in regard to the deposit, and perhaps at the same time discover to the thief its present whereabouts? He saw no other way, and feeling that he had little time to lose plunged into the question.