Bob’s face grew thoughtful, “I heard from him very seldom, you know. I suppose South Africa, where I’ve lived for the past twenty years, made it seem to him as if I was in another world.
“So you think the estate is in bad shape?”
“I’m afraid so. Have you seen the will yet?”
Bob shook his head. “I received a letter from the lawyers,” he said. “Whatever’s left is to be shared by myself and Betty Mandell, my uncle’s ward. She’s lived with my uncle since she was a child.”
Mallory smiled a wry smile. “That means,” he said, “that she will be virtually penniless. She will have no home, and what money she receives cannot last long.”
“She needn’t worry,” smiled Bob. “I’ve done well in South Africa, Mr. Mallory. She’ll live here, as she’s always done. And that reminds me, sir, I have to call her. Pardon me for a few minutes.”
Bob consulted a card he drew from his pocket and reached for the desk phone. In a few moments, Mallory smiled again, observing the beam of happiness on Bob’s face as he spoke.
“Yes, Betty,” Bob was saying, “this is Bob… I’m glad to hear your voice, too… A good many years since we’ve seen each other… You are coming in to-morrow? That’s great… No, Betty, you mustn’t talk that way. This is your home, as it has always been… I’ll see you to-morrow, then? Wonderful!”
After the phone call, Bob chatted with his uncle’s old friend. He was glad to meet some one in New York.
Bob had left, when only a youth, to seek his fortune in South Africa, where his father, Theodore Galvin’s brother, had left him some property.
He told Mallory of his adventures there. He brought out papers from his suitcase, and showed them to his uncle’s old friend. The papers were piled upon the desk by the time their conversation had ended.
Hiram Mallory arose. He held out his hand.
“You have done well, Robert,” he said. “I only regret that your uncle did not live to see you and talk with you as I have. He would have been delighted to learn of your success.
“He was a broken man when he went away, Robert. He wanted to go to some distant country, where he could relieve his mind from all his worries.
“He was old, Robert, but I believe that he would have recuperated some of his losses if he had returned. But that was not to be—”
Mallory paused speculatively as he stood by the doorway. He glanced at his watch and smiled at the lateness of the hour.
“Half past eleven,” he said. “I am usually in bed by ten o’clock. I must go. I shall see you again, Robert.”
“Good night,” replied Bob. “I’m certainly glad you dropped in, Mr. Mallory. I’ll turn in myself — after I’ve gone over those papers on the desk. That will mean an hour’s work, at least.”
Alone, in the gloom of the oak-paneled room, Bob lost himself in the work before him.
He had come away from South Africa rather hurriedly; but on the boat he had attended to all details. He had only these final matters left. As soon as they were finished, there would be no reason for him to worry about the affairs that he had left.
Bob worked quickly. It required less time than he had anticipated. The old clock in the hallway was striking twelve when he completed his labors.
His own business ended, Bob began to study some documents that Hodgson had laid on the desk. They referred to his uncle’s affairs, but were of minor importance.
While Bob was considering these, he became conscious of a slight noise behind him. He swung in his swivel chair, expecting to see Hodgson.
A startled gasp came from Bob’s lips as he found himself staring into the muzzle of an automatic.
The gun was held by a man who wore a dark overcoat and a black cap. The stranger’s face was partly obscured by the collar of his coat. The peak of his cap hid his eyes.
“No noise!” warned a low, growling voice. “Put up your hands!”
Bob obeyed, wondering. He remembered the burglary that Hodgson had mentioned.
But this was a more daring entry — and its futility was perplexing. There was nothing of value here. Neither did Bob have any great amount of money on his person.
He arose at a command from the man who held the pistol. The stranger’s left hand tapped Bob’s pockets in search of a weapon, but none was there.
“Put on your hat and coat,” the man ordered, motioning toward the corner. Bob followed instructions.
The stranger was beside Bob now.
“You’re coming with me,” he said in a low voice. “No funny business. Understand? Don’t try to tip off that old guy that works for you. Tell him you’re going out. Get me?”
Bob nodded. Then he was being urged forward. They entered the hallway. Bob could feel the pressure of the automatic pressed against his side.
They encountered Hodgson in the dimly lighted hall.
“Are you going out with Mr. Mallory, sir?” questioned the old servant.
The gun nudged Bob. He realized that Hodgson did not know that Mallory had departed half an hour before.
The old servant’s poor eyes could distinguish but the forms of two men. The blankness of his gaze indicated that Hodgson was simply assuming the other man’s identity.
“Yes,” said Bob huskily, “I’m going out for a while, Hodgson.”
“You have the key with you, sir?”
“Yes, Hodgson.”
“All right, sir. Shall I wait up?”
Bob hesitated. If Hodgson remained waiting for him, it might be to his advantage. The old servant would suspect something wrong if he did not return.
“You might do that, Hodgson,” he said.
The man with the gun made no comment. Bob smiled as he was nudged along the hall. His ruse had worked. Hodgson would be waiting.
The old servant moved hurriedly ahead of them. He opened the door and stood by the darkened vestibule, while Bob Galvin and his captor walked out into the night.
CHAPTER III
BETTY MANDELL stared across the table. Her gaze was fixed upon Bob Galvin’s face. It seemed sallow in the dim light of the dining room. Two candles on the center of the table furnished the only illumination.
“What’s the matter?” demanded the man, as he noticed the girl’s stare.
“Nothing, Bob,” replied Betty. “It’s just — well, you look so different from what I expected you to be.”
“Yeah?” Bob’s voice seemed rather sour. “What’s the matter with me? Don’t you like my looks?”
“It’s not that, Bob,” said Betty hastily. “I like you, and I’ll always like you, Bob. It’s just that you’re — well — so different from the way I pictured you.”
The man laughed good humoredly.
“You haven’t seen me since we were kids,” he said.
“I’ve seen your picture,” reminded Betty. “The one you sent me two years ago — with one of those wonderful letters that you know how to write.”
“That’s so. I sent you my picture. But photographs sometimes fool you, Betty. Maybe I’ve changed a bit, too. People say I’ve been changing in appearance.”
“I guess that explains it, Bob. But when I heard your voice on the telephone last night, it was as if I could see you while you were talking. But now — well — it all seems different.”
“You didn’t see me last night. That was just your imagination.”
“I didn’t imagine I heard your voice! That’s different now, Bob! When I came in this afternoon, I was amazed the moment that I heard you speak.”
“A voice never sounds right over the telephone.”
“That must be it, Bob,” Betty consented, then went on.
“Don’t think I’m disappointed. I’m just bewildered, that’s all. I’m just trying to get used to you. You understand, don’t you?”