“It is saddening, Benzig” — Delhugh shook his head seriously — “really saddening, to encounter men like Luftus. They give only because public sentiment compels the strong to aid the weak. They gain no pleasure from the process; yet they are the first to claim that they are philanthropists.
“Well, let us forget those fine points. Write a letter to Luftus, Benzig. Ask him to telephone Justin Galway, chairman of the Talleyrand Fund, on Tuesday, to arrange the exact time of the call.”
The chime of a dinner gong floated faintly through the open door of the study. Delhugh arose and walked toward the door.
“Type the letter before you come down to dinner,” he told Benzig. “It will take you only a few minutes. Leave it on my desk with the correspondence. I shall sign it after dinner; and also dictate other communications.”
BENZIG typed a brief letter after Delhugh had left. He placed it carefully upon the desk; then, without replacing the loose letters, he put his portfolio on a table in the corner. He left the study and went downstairs.
He joined Delhugh at the dinner table, in the dining room at the rear of the ground floor.
The doorbell rang while Delhugh and Benzig were dining. A servant answered it; then returned to announce that Mr. Zurk was calling. Delhugh looked up from his salad.
“Go speak to him, Benzig,” the millionaire told the secretary. “Usher him up to the study. Tell him that I shall join him within fifteen minutes.”
“But, Mr. Delhugh,” began the secretary, “don’t you think that it would be better—”
“I told you to take Mr. Zurk to the study,” interposed Delhugh. “Go, now, Benzig. Do as I have ordered.”
“Very well, sir.”
Benzig left. He returned in less than five minutes. He and Delhugh finished their dinner in silence. Then the millionaire left the dining room and went upstairs. Arriving in the study, he found Steve Zurk seated there, awaiting him.
Delhugh shook hands with the ex-convict. He noted Steve’s attire and observed that the man was wearing a new suit — one that was well-fitted and conservative. Delhugh nodded in approval. He took his chair behind the desk and offered Steve a cigar.
“Well, Zurk,” he questioned, “how is the importing business?”
“Good,” replied Steve in a sober tone. “I like it. I think I’ll make good on the job, Mr. Delhugh.”
“Any comments from the people there?”
“Only from Mr. Daykin. He is pleased.”
“Excellent! Let’s see; you were here Wednesday. But that was too soon for you to have opinions regarding the suitability of your new occupation. You are sure you like it?”
“Absolutely! It’s a new life for me, Mr. Delhugh. A new life. Lot’s different from a month ago” — Steve shook his head in reminiscence — “when I thought I was going to be in stir until I croaked.”
“That’s right,” nodded Delhugh. “Your accumulated terms amounted to about sixty years, didn’t they?”
“Sixty-five,” replied Steve, with a wry smile. “I figured it the same as a life sentence. That’s what I was — a lifer—”
“Let us change the subject,” interposed Delhugh. “We must remember, Zurk, that your past is forgotten. I am glad to learn that your present satisfies you. As for the future, that remains with you.”
He arose to indicate that the interview was ended. He clasped Steve’s hand; then reminded the ex-convict that his next appointment was for Monday night.
Benzig came at Delhugh’s ring and ushered Steve downstairs.
DELHUGH was at his desk, studying the other letters referring to the Talleyrand Hospital Fund when Benzig returned to the study. Seeing that his employer was busy, Benzig picked up his portfolio from the chair where he had placed it. Papers slid out as Benzig lifted the portfolio. The secretary turned to the philanthropist.
“Pardon me Mr. Delhugh,” said Benzig. “Did you take any other letters from this portfolio?”
“No,” replied Delhugh, looking up from his letters. “Why?”
“The clasp was not securely fastened,” stated the secretary. “Yet I am sure that I closed it tightly before I came down to dinner.”
“Are the letters all there?”
“Yes, sir. But—”
“But what?” quizzed Delhugh, as Benzig paused.
“I–I was wondering about Zurk,” stammered Benzig. “He was here while we were at dinner. Perhaps — perhaps he—”
“Perhaps he opened the portfolio?” Delhugh’s inquiry was cold.
“Yes, sir,” nodded Benzig.
“I begin to understand,” said Delhugh, his face firm. “That was why you objected, at dinner, to ushering Zurk up here. You don’t trust the man, do you?”
“I–I was thinking of your letters,” protested Benzig. “I didn’t want any one rummaging through them. It — it was on your account, Mr. Delhugh. It wasn’t exactly that I didn’t trust Zurk. If any one had come up here, I would have been disturbed.”
“I see.” Delhugh’s voice was grave. “Well, Benzig, you and others like you constitute the menace that such men as Zurk and Targon face. Free from prison, trying to face the world, they meet with the mistrust of small-minded persons. Do you realize, Benzig, that you are helping to destroy the very work that I am attempting to do?”
“I am sorry, sir. Real sorry.”
“That means nothing, if Zurk noticed your mistrust. He regards this house as one place where he is free from suspicion; where he meets with friends who believe in his honesty.”
“I said nothing to Zurk, sir.”
“I am glad that you did not. See to it that your actions do not disturb him in the future. These letters” — Delhugh shuffled the ones that he held — “would be of no consequence to Zurk.”
“But the portfolio—”
“Contains no correspondence of consequence. You probably failed to fasten it securely. Your suspicious nature caused you to imagine that Zurk had opened it.”
“I suppose that you are right sir.”
“I am right. Moreover, I am annoyed by your attitude, Benzig. This has been shabbiness on your part. Let me see no more of it.”
“Very well, sir.”
DELHUGH ordered Benzig to take dictation. The secretary did so, his hand shaky as he recalled the reprimand that he had just received. When Delhugh had finished giving letters, he arose, nodded a good night and went out, leaving Benzig alone to complete his typing.
His employer gone, the secretary picked up the portfolio. He examined the catch; then shook his head.
Though he had been impressed by his employer’s words, Benzig could not shake the one idea from his mind.
The secretary was positive that Steve Zurk had made use of his time when alone in this study. He was sure that the ex-convict had examined the letter to Theobald Luftus that lay on Delhugh’s desk; and that, following that procedure, he had gone through the contents of the portfolio.
Yet Benzig, timid and fearful of his employer’s wrath, had resolved to keep that opinion to himself. From now on, the secretary would have a secret duty of his own — one that he would not mention to Delhugh.
Benzig was determined to watch the actions of both Steve Zurk and Jack Targon whenever they paid visits to this house.
CHAPTER VI. THE SHADOW’S SEARCH
ONE week had elapsed since Steve Zurk and Jack Targon had arrived in New York. It was again a Monday; and evening had brought a sullen, misty blackness to Manhattan. In brilliant areas, gleaming lights cleaved the shroud of darkness; but in more isolated sections of the city, street lamps were pitiful with their feeble rays.
Pacing patrolmen were vigilant this night. This was the type of evening made for crime, when lurking footpads and bold yeggs could venture forth beneath a blanketing protection. Every byway in the underworld was a potential lingering spot for desperadoes.