“You made out well in the end.”
“Yes, but the going was tough for a while. My father knew of some of the troubles I ran into. I used to write him after I got out of my scrapes. I guess—”
MILTON paused. He puffed at his cigarette, then noticed Vandrow’s friendly expression. He decided to continue.
“I guess some of my letters wouldn’t look good in print,” said Milton. “They might give the idea that I had followed a pretty shady career. But after I settled down in Adelaide, I put all that behind me.”
“A wise procedure. You can forget the past, Milton. Youthful escapades seldom produce serious consequences. As for your letters to your father, I feel sure that he must have destroyed them. That is, unless they happen to be in this box.”
The lawyer arose to approach an opened safe. He brought forth a tin box and handed it to Milton. The box was locked. Milton shook it and noted that it contained light objects only.
“I left the key with Lester,” explained Vandrow, “your father’s old servant. The box probably contains personal papers that your father thought would be of interest to you.”
The lawyer seated himself at the desk and began to tap the file of documents that he had been studying. Milton laid the tin box aside to hear what Vandrow had to say.
“Your father,” stated the attorney, “encountered unexpected misfortunes in his business enterprises. I must admit that those troubles came during his later years. But they can not be attributed to failing mentality.
“David Claverly made only one mistake. That was in confining his activities to the Torburg section. He handled all building contracts in this vicinity. His wealth increased year by year. But he ran into opposition.”
“Who from?” inquired Milton.
“Other prominent men,” replied Vandrow. “No one individual could have damaged your father’s business. It took a combination to perform that deed. There were three who seemed to envy your father’s success.”
“Who were they?”
“Maurice Dunwell was one. You probably remember him. He is a local manufacturer.”
“I know him. Who else?”
“Stuart Hosker, a man who is important politically. He was the second. Willis Beauchamp, the local banker, was the third.”
“You say they combined against my father?”
“Yes. They controlled different bodies of selectmen in the neighboring townships. Your father ran into unexpected losses on his contracts. His work failed to gain the approval that the specifications demanded.”
“Did he know that there was a plot against him?”
“Yes and no. He always met opposition bluntly. In this case, he practically abandoned the contracting business. He put his money into real estate.”
“For what purpose?”
“To sell land to a power company that intends to build a huge reservoir near Torburg. That was proof of your father’s foresight. Most people thought that his purchases were folly.”
“Were they?”
“No. Unfortunately, however, he ran into new troubles with his contracting business. He was forced to borrow money. He put up the real estate as security.”
“And lost it?”
“Yes. But only because of death. His notes were coming due and I feel sure that he could have paid them. Then he died, suddenly, after a short illness.”
“And who gained the real estate?”
“The three men — Dunwell, Hosker and Beauchamp.”
“A flock of crooks!” Milton’s comment was vicious. “What did they do? Kill my father?”
“QUIET, Milton,” warned Vandrow. “There is no proof that they sought to do physical injury to your father. In fact, subsequent events proved that those three men did not appreciate the value of the land that they had gained. They made only a fair profit on its sale.”
“Who bought it?”
“A holding company. A concern which will probably sell it to the power company later on. Had Dunwell, Hosker and Beauchamp held the property, they would have gained much more.”
“That’s one satisfaction,” decided Milton. “Well, those are three names I’ll remember. Dunwell — Hosker — Beauchamp. You can call them what you want. I term them crooks.”
“Then what about Abner Zangwald?” inquired Vandrow, with a shake of his head. “He was your father’s friend; yet he, too, loaned money on some of the property.”
“That’s different,” retorted Milton. “I remember Zangwald. Owned a lot of farm land, didn’t he?”
“He still does.”
“Well, he wasn’t one of the three conspirators, was he? I guess when father died, he had to take the property since he couldn’t collect the money. That’s business.”
“But Zangwald still has the property.”
“You mean he didn’t sell out to the holding company?”
“That is precisely what I mean. Zangwald stands in a position that the others failed to gain. He intends to keep the property until the power company needs it. He may gain a full million by its sale.”
“You mean he knew my father’s plans?”
“He did. In fact, he and your father alone knew for a certainty that the power company intends to come to Torburg. The others are not positive of it, even yet, and they have sold out to the holding company.”
“Then it looks like Zangwald is a crook in his own right,” asserted Milton, hotly. “You asked for my opinion. You’ve gotten it. Zangwald is the worst of the bunch!”
With this statement, Milton Claverly arose. Louis Vandrow did the same. He picked up the folio of papers and shook his head sadly.
“You are as headstrong as your father,” rebuked the lawyer. “That was his great falling. A tendency to become impetuous. He curbed it as he grew older—”
“And look at the deal he received,” interposed Milton. “Maybe, if he had kept on being tough, he wouldn’t have lost all his money.”
“There is still some left,” reminded Vandrow, tapping the folio. “Considerably in excess of one hundred thousand dollars, to be divided between yourself and your father’s ward, Phyllis Lingle.”
“There should be millions,” protested Milton. “You admit that yourself, Vandrow. That’s your trouble; you’re too placid. This was thievery — this robbing of my father!”
“It is getting late, Milton,” said Vandrow, in a kindly tone. “We do not have time to go over affairs in detail. Suppose you see me here tomorrow, after you feel in a mood to discuss matters.”
“All right,” agreed Milton, staring at the window. He saw that dusk was gathering outside. “But I think I ought to know more about the circumstances of my father’s death.”
“Talk with Lester,” suggested the lawyer. “He was in the house when your father died. Ask him for the key to the box that I have given you; and bring up the subject of your father’s death.”
With that, Vandrow led the way through the door and down a flight of stairs. On the street, he and Milton parted ways. The lawyer walked in toward the town; Milton took a street that led in the direction of his father’s old mansion.
THE road curved along the side of the hill. As he followed it, Milton Claverly stared up toward the bell-tower, which stood like a forgotten chimney upon the summit of the little hill.
The tower reminded him of an old-world campanile. The shrouding dusk brought memories of the past. Staring at the tower, Milton realized that this bleak structure was a memento of his father. It spoke of prosperity that had been forgotten; of wealth that had passed to other hands.
Vengeful utterances came from the young man’s lips as his eyes gazed steadily toward the tower. Louis Vandrow had seen the outburst of Milton Claverly’s anger. This was a new manifestation of the wrath that the lawyer’s statements had kindled.