Mr. Conway stepped forward and touched what appeared to be one of the bra.s.s nails that studded the outer rim, and, as if by magic, the desk flew open, the other watching keenly to see how he did it.

Without further comment Mr. Conway turned away and with slow, heavy tread left the private office and walked toward his desk. When he reached it his emotions overcame him completely, and he laid his head down upon his ledger, tears falling like rain down his face.

In an instant half a dozen of his fellow bookkeepers were about him, frightened beyond words at this unusual scene and inquiring what could be the matter.

For a moment the old cashier hesitated, then he resolved to break the truth to them; they would soon find it out for themselves; he would tell them, and at the same time instruct them as best he could in this unfortunate affair. He raised his white head, the head that had grown gray in the employ of the firm he had loved so well and served so faithfully.

"You must know the truth, my fellows," he answered, slowly, huskily, and with apparent difficulty. "Our Mr. Armstrong has, for the first time since we have all known him, gone wrong; he is under the influence of strong drink, and by no means himself. I may add that I earnestly pray that each of you be loyal to him, even through this misfortune, and not let even a hint of it go forth to the outside world, for at this crisis it would ruin the well-known firm of Marsh & Co., which is now vested in him."

The horror and amazement on the faces of the men can better be imagined than described. All had loved and revered Lester Armstrong, and to hear that he had suddenly gone wrong because he had become possessed of a fortune was alarming and distressing news to them.

"Drink changes him so completely in temperament that it is hard to realize that he is the same courteous companion of those other days. He was so far gone from the effects of liquor I am not even sure that he recognized me. Hark! what is that?"

Several of the detectives of the place were rushing through the main office toward the private office, in answer to Mr. Armstrong's summons.

The call for them had been so furious that they rushed in pell-mell, without waiting to take time to rap.

The bogus Mr. Lester Armstrong still sat in the luxurious leather armchair, his heels on the desk, fairly hidden in heavy clouds of blue smoke from his Havana cigar, at which he was puffing vigorously, fairly going into convulsions of laughter over a letter bearing a blue and gold monogram, which he was reading.

The unceremonious entrance of the four men caused him to spring suddenly to his feet.

"What the d---l do you fellows want?" he exclaimed angrily. "How dare you intrude upon me, in my private office, in this unheard-of fashion, like a herd of escaped lunatics?"

"You rang for us," replied one of the men.

"I did not," replied the bogus Mr. Armstrong, resuming his seat pompously.

"The bells certainly rang, sir!" exclaimed the other three, simultaneously.

"Didn't I tell you that I didn't ring?" he answered, stamping his feet furiously.

In less time than it takes to tell it three more men dashed into the private office, exclaiming:

"We are here, sir, at the very first tap of your bell."

"You have all gone suddenly stark mad, or you are a set of the blamedest fools in existence, as I have just told these men. I did not ring. What on earth do you mean, by insisting that I did, I should like to know?"

"I beg your pardon, but you are still ringing, sir," declared one of the men. "We can distinctly hear the bell ringing furiously. Do you not see that your foot is still on it?"

"My foot!" exclaimed the bogus Mr. Armstrong, angrily. "Explain what you mean at once."

For answer, the man stepped forward, and pulled aside the mat under his employer's feet, mentally wondering if Mr. Lester Armstrong had not grown suddenly daft himself, thereby disclosing a set of electric b.u.t.tons which the rug had cunningly concealed.

"You kept your foot on them and they rang, calling us here instantly,"

returned the man.

"Bless me! I forgot entirely about those confounded electric b.u.t.tons,"

declared the bogus Armstrong, turning very red. "I'll have 'em put somewhere else to-morrow; great nuisance; always in the way." And after an instant a bright thought occurred to him, and he said blandly: "Well, to tell you the truth, men, I was only trying you to see how quickly you would respond; you may all go now."

The men quitted the private office, looking rather dumfounded into each other's blank faces, and in less than half an hour afterward every employee in the vast dry goods establishment heard the shocking news, that Mr. Lester Armstrong, whom they all believed well-nigh perfect, was terribly intoxicated up in his private office, but they were to be still more astounded ere the eventful day closed.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE WILL DISINHERITING FAYNIE.

As soon as the men had quitted the private office Kendale sprang to his feet and began pacing up and down the length of the room excitedly, muttering under his breath:

"'Ah, what a fatal web we weave When first we practice to deceive.'

"It seems to me that there are traps in every direction to catch me. I must be extra shrewd. I'll have those confounded bells changed at once.

I shouldn't be at all surprised to find an electric bell connected with that chair at the desk which would call up the entire fire force of the city if I were to lean back far enough in it."

He flung himself down in his seat again and took up the letter which he had been perusing and which interested him so.

When he had first broken the seal of this missive his heart had fairly jumped into his throat; at the first glance he saw that it was from Mrs.

Fairfax, of Beechwood.

He read it carefully through fully a half dozen times. It ran as follows:

"MY DEAR MR. ARMSTRONG: I wish to extend to you my sincere congratulations over your good fortune in succeeding to the business of my dear old friend and neighbor, Mr. Marsh, late of Beechwood village. I feel as though I know you well from hearing him speak so continually of you. I am indeed thankful that his business fell into the hands of one whom he trusted so deeply.

"It was his wish, long ago, that we should meet and know each other, and in remembrance of this, his earnest and oft-repeated wish, I now extend you a cordial invitation to visit our home at Beechwood at your earliest convenience and dine with the family. My daughter and I will have a most hearty welcome for you. Any date convenient to you which you may set will be agreeable to us.

"Trusting that we may have the pleasure of seeing you very soon, I remain, yours very truly,

"MRS. HORACE FAIRFAX, Beechwood."

The bogus Lester Armstrong laid the letter down and looked abstractedly out of the window.

"Of all places in the world, to think that I should be invited there,"

he mused. "While I have just been wondering how they took Faynie's elopement--and never hearing from her since--and wondering how in the world I was to discover all that--lo! a way is opened to me!"

Then his thoughts flew back to that stormy wedding night, and that midnight scene in the little inn, when the girl he had just wedded, believing her to be an heiress, revealed to him the exasperating truth, that only that night her father had disinherited her, making a new will in favor of her stepmother and her daughter Claire. The plan which Halloran had laid out was to wait a reasonable time, then put in an appearance, stating that he was Faynie's husband, and that she had just died, and claim her portion of the estate. Every detail had been most carefully mapped out; but here he saw an easier way of gaining that same fortune without the trouble of litigation--marry the girl Claire.

They would never know anything about that previous marriage with Faynie, and the dead could tell no secrets.

"I'll go," he muttered. "I shall reply at once, telling her she may expect me two days hence--let me see, this is Tuesday; I will dine with her Thursday, and, at least, see what the girl Claire looks like. It would be the proper caper to gather in as many fortunes as drift my way.

I suppose I shall run through half a dozen of them ere I reach the end of my tether."

All in due season his letter of acceptance reached Mrs. Fairfax, and she was highly elated over it.

She had seized upon her neighborly acquaintance with the late Mr. Marsh to invite to her home the young man who had fallen heir to his millions, in order that her daughter Claire might win him--if it were a possibility.

She had succeeded in forcing Faynie to remain beneath that roof, even after informing her that she was disinherited--dependent upon her stepmother--by saying that it was her father's wish that she should thus remain for at least six months.

Mrs. Fairfax's real reason was that the outside world would not know just how affairs stood in the family until she had had time to turn everything into cash and get over to Europe to look up another millionaire widower.