West tried to raise his hand, then fell back with a sigh of weariness.

"Am I as sick as all that?" he inquired faintly, as he gazed into the doctor's inscrutable eyes.

"You are a very sick man, Mr. West. I do not wish to needlessly alarm you, but it would be best to communicate with your people, and put your affairs in order, so that, whatever happens, you will be ready to meet it."

The sick man looked at the doctor with a long, intent look. His lips quivered, his hand tightened fearfully upon the one that held it. "You mean that I am going to die?" he asked bravely. "Tell me the truth, doctor. I would rather know." The doctor nodded his head slowly, but made no other reply.

West was a long time in realizing the truth, yet it seemed as though he had always known it. He had never quite believed that all the happiness he looked forward to so gladly would ever really come true. It seemed almost too much to ask of fate. And now it was all ended. He must die, here alone, with not even Edith's presence to gladden his few remaining hours. For a long time he looked at the doctor with burning eyes, yet no words would come to say that which he felt. The doctor must have understood, for he, too, stood silent, his eyes fixed tenderly upon the dying man's face. At last he spoke.

"You should send for your people, Mr. West," he said.

"I have no people, doctor."

"Is there no one you would care to see?"

"No--no one that could come to me here." He thought of Edith--so far away--even if she could come to him, he knew there would not be time. He looked once more at the grave face which bent over his. "How long have I to live, doctor?" he asked.

"I am afraid the time is not very long, Mr. West. If you have any business affairs that you wish to attend to, I would advise you to do so at once."

Business affairs! What business affairs could interest him now? His fortune lay in the Central National Bank, and beyond some distant relatives in New Hampshire whom he had never seen, and who scarcely knew of his existence, there was no one on earth to whom he could leave it.

No one? The thought flashed through his mind--what about Edith? She was nearer and dearer to him than all the relatives in the world--she must have this money; at least it would bring her comfort and the ability to make her life what she had always wished it to be. He raised his hand, and began to speak. "You must send Austin Williams here, doctor. He is a lawyer in the Pioneer Building. You can call him up on the telephone."

He sank back, exhausted from the effort of speaking. Williams had done work for him in the past. It would be a small thing, to make his will.

The doctor and the nurse would act as witnesses. He asked the former to hurry--there was no time to be lost--he felt his strength ebbing away even as he spoke.

The long silence that followed until the lawyer arrived was unbroken save by the labored breathing of the man in the bed. What thoughts pa.s.sed through his pain-tortured brain--what agony of regret, of remorse, of self-accusation, he did not show by word or look. He lay with his eyes closed, the seal of death upon his forehead. At last the lawyer arrived, and in a few moments was apprised of the sad circ.u.mstances which had called him. He gripped West's hand with a silent pressure of sympathy, and listened to the broken words that told him of last wishes. His entire property was to be left to Edith Pope Rogers, wife of Donald Evan Rogers, of New York City. That was all. The lawyer called for pen and paper, and rapidly drew up the short, concise will.

West's attorney in New York, Ogden Brennan by name, of the firm of Gruber, McMillan, Brennan & Shaw, was named as executor.

Within fifteen minutes the will had been drawn, signed and duly witnessed, and William West had completed his last earthly task. He bade Williams a steady farewell, and then turned toward the wall. "I'm so tired!" he moaned, then became quiet. They thought he was sleeping, and did not disturb him. He was, but it was the sleep from which there is no awakening.

CHAPTER X

The bells in Old Trinity were chiming the hour of five and all New York began to turn its face homeward. The human tide flowed from offices to elevators, from elevators to corridors and thence in an ever growing stream toward the subway and elevated stations. The sun, like a round red Chinese lamp, was poised above the gathering mists of the Jersey sh.o.r.e, ready for its plunge behind the distant hills. Office boys and bank presidents, stenographers and captains of industry fought democratically for seats in the overcrowded trains, while over all sounded the shrill call of the newsboys as they disposed of the afternoon papers. Down-town New York had completed another day--the tides now moved on to Jersey, Harlem, Brooklyn, or the great center of life that throbs unceasingly about Times Square.

Against this ever increasing torrent of humanity Mr. Ogden Brennan of the firm of Gruber, McMillan, Brennan & Shaw, Attorneys-at-Law, struggled irritably, as he forced his way from a down-town subway train, and hurried to the firm's extensive suite of offices in Wall Street, near Broadway.

He gave a quick glance about as he entered, and, making rapidly for his private office, called sharply to young Garvan, one of his a.s.sistants, to ask Mr. Shaw to join him at once. Mr. Brennan was tall and gaunt-looking, and peremptory alike in his physical and mental processes, and, when he entered his office, as he did on this occasion, in a more than usually energetic fashion, everybody, down to William the office boy, was galvanized into an unwonted activity.

Mr. Shaw, the junior member of the firm, with a dinner on at his club, had already donned his overcoat and was giving some parting instructions to his stenographer as young Garvan entered and delivered the message.

He took up his hat with a sigh--he was of a more placid and phlegmatic temperament than his partner--and, picking up his afternoon paper, folded it carefully, selected his walking stick from the stand near the door, and proceeded in a leisurely manner to Mr. Brennan's private office.

The firm of Gruber, McMillan, Brennan & Shaw was a large one, and its princ.i.p.al practice lay in the handling of the affairs of corporations and estates. Criminal practice knew it not, but it was said of Mr. Shaw that he could draw a better contract, or handle a difficult merger, more successfully than any other lawyer in New York, which was saying much.

Mr. Brennan dealt with estates and wills--the latter were his hobby. He claimed that none drawn by himself had ever been broken.

As Mr. Shaw entered his partner's private office, with a bland look of inquiry upon his well-bred countenance, he observed Mr. Brennan throw down upon his desk, with an exclamation of annoyance, a thin legal doc.u.ment, comprising but two pages, written, as he noted, in longhand, instead of the usual typewritten characters. Mr. Brennan looked up with a frown.

"Sam," he said hurriedly, "you know that young Billy West? He's dead."

Mr. Shaw put on his eyegla.s.ses, and regarded Mr. Brennan curiously. "I don't seem to remember him," he replied. "Who was he?"

"Son of old Josiah West, the patent attorney. He made a fortune in mining operations in Colorado. His father used to be a client of mine, twenty years ago. Don't you recollect the suits he brought against the paper trust?"

"Before my time, I think," replied Mr. Shaw.

"Well, it's not important now. I've been wanting to see you about the matter all day, but that case of the Webster estate has kept me on the jump. Young West died in Denver last Friday. I've just received a copy of his will from an attorney out there by the name of Williams." Mr.

Brennan referred to the papers impatiently, adjusting his gla.s.ses with a jerk. "Austin Williams. He writes a long letter, telling me of West's death in the City Hospital there, following an operation for appendicitis. Very sudden affair. West was interested in a mine out there, but had sold out his holdings and put the proceeds in bank. About half a million, I believe. I'm executor of his estate." He looked at Mr.

Shaw with a frown.

"What of it, Ogden? Simple enough affair, I should think. No contesting claims, I hope, or anything of that sort."

"None, so far as I can see. It's the terms of the will that I can't quite understand, and they impress me unpleasantly."

"What are they?" Mr. Shaw regarded his partner wearily. He wondered why Brennan troubled to explain to him all these apparently unimportant details, just when he was in an especial hurry to get up-town and change in time for dinner. "Is there anything in the matter that requires action to-night?" he inquired. "I have a rather important engagement, and--"

"Sam," interrupted his partner, "I won't keep you long. My object in telling you of this matter is to find out if by any chance you know a man in town named Donald Rogers. The name, somehow, sounded familiar to me, and I thought possibly you might be able to tell me something about him. You know everybody, almost."

"Rogers," repeated Mr. Shaw to himself, slowly; "Donald Rogers. Isn't he a mechanical engineer? There was a chap by that name who had something to do with the Sunbury Cement case. Expert witness, if I remember rightly. Seemed a very decent sort of a fellow, and knew his business.

We won the case on his testimony. What's he got to do with it?" The junior partner took a chair, and laid his cane, newspaper and gloves carefully upon the desk. "Go ahead," he said quietly. "Let's have the details."

Mr. Brennan took off his gla.s.ses and nervously put them on again. "This will that West made, upon his deathbed--" he picked up the doc.u.ment from the desk and regarded it distastefully--"leaves his entire estate to a woman." He paused and glanced at his partner as though to note the effect of his statement.

Mr. Shaw turned restlessly in his chair. He evidently saw nothing strange in this. "Well, why not?" he asked. "I don't see anything about that to cause anyone any alarm. It had to be either a woman or a man, I suppose, if he left no children."

"The strange part about the affair, Sam, is this: Young West was not married. He left this money to the wife of another man with whom he was madly in love. So far as I can learn, she was equally in love with him.

They were planning an elopement, or something of the sort, when he was stricken with this illness. He insisted upon leaving her everything."

"You don't say so! Who is she?" asked Mr. Shaw, for the first time manifesting an interest in his partner's story.

Mr. Brennan took up the will, and, opening it, read aloud, "Edith Pope Rogers, wife of Donald Evan Rogers, of New York City."

Mr. Shaw arose. He took up from the desk a telephone directory and consulted it with interest. "Donald Evan Rogers," he presently read, "mechanical engineer, Columbia Building." He put down the book and glanced at his partner. "That's the man. I remember him well now. Bright young fellow, and very hardworking. I took quite a fancy to him. Rather a queer state of things, I must say." He whistled softly to himself.

"Decidedly so. I have no choice in the matter, of course, but I fancy this doc.u.ment is likely to cause considerable trouble in the Rogers'

household."

Mr. Shaw wrinkled his brow in a frown. "You don't suppose for a moment he'd let his wife take this money--unless, of course," he added reflectively, "she intends to leave him."

Mr. Brennan threw the will upon the table with a snort. "That's the whole trouble, Sam. The woman had been writing young West every day.

Williams has sent me all her letters to him, along with his other papers. I've glanced through some of them. She had evidently made up her mind to leave her husband at once, as soon as West got back from Denver."

"I don't see that there is anything for you to do but to go ahead with the matter as the law requires. You are not supposed to know anything about West's relations with this man's wife. Possibly her husband doesn't know, either. It is none of your affair."

"I know it, but doesn't it occur to you, Sam, that this is likely to explode a bombsh.e.l.l in this young fellow's home?"

"Did West know Rogers well?" inquired Mr. Shaw.