“I see.” Farrow smiled. “Miss Legrand is benefiting to the extent of exactly fourteen thousand dollars.”
“Yes.”
“It is quite all right with me. At the same time, Granger, you are my attorney as well as Miss Legrand’s. I am a stranger here in Southfield. She is evidently a person whom you have known for a very long while.”
“That is true.” Norton Granger nodded solemnly as he caught the mild innuendo. “I knew that you might bring up that fact. That is why I intend to explain matters to your satisfaction.”
Farrow waited until Granger thoughtfully resumed.
“Miss Legrand,” stated the young lawyer, “is the victim of unfortunate circumstances. If you remain long in Southfield, Mr. Farrow, you will undoubtedly hear mention of them. Therefore, I may as well discuss them with you now.
“Her father, Ferris Legrand, was a man who had once had a rather doubtful reputation, but who had settled down to business. Ferris Legrand, five years ago, was making a success with the Southfield Clothing Shop. He owed some of this success to the aid which he had been given by my father, Wilbur Granger.”
The young attorney’s eyes wandered to a photograph which hung upon the wall. Farrow’s gaze followed the same direction. The ex-convict studied the pictured features of an elderly, stern-faced man.
“Your father,” he questioned, “was an attorney also?”
“Yes,” replied Norton Granger. “He handled the affairs of the most important men in Southfield. He was attorney for Rutherford Blogg, the manufacturer; for Hiram Marker, who owns the waterworks and the electric plant; for Townsend Rowling, the real-estate owner who controls the Southfield Bank.”
“Big men, eh?”
“Very big. My father was prominent because of his association with them. He was wealthy and influential. Then came tragedy.”
Farrow listened as the young lawyer lowered his tone to deal in solemn reminiscence.
“FOUR years ago,” declared Norton Granger, “I was away at law school, in my senior year. Father was living alone in this home. Banks, our old retainer, left one afternoon. Father was here when Banks went out.
“That night, a motorist from out of town happened to cut through an abandoned road which no one used. He saw a body lying in a ditch. It was my father. He had been murdered. The motorist hurried into town. The police came here to the house.
“They surprised a man who was leaving by the back door. They trailed him and the path led to Ferris Legrand’s store. They entered and discovered Legrand. He was hiding money and documents which he had taken from this house.”
“A burglar!”
“So the evidence showed. The prosecutor set out to prove that Legrand had murdered my father, also. Legrand had no alibi to show where he had been that evening. Nevertheless, the murder charge was dropped for lack of evidence. Ferris Legrand was sent to the State penitentiary for ten years, convicted of burglary.”
“You mentioned that he had died just—”
“He is dead. He passed away in prison one week ago. His daughter, Mildred, had been carrying on the business while he was in prison. She had hoped that he would be paroled. Her hopes are now ended.”
“I understand.” Farrow’s voice seemed sympathetic. “Now that her father is dead, her interest in the store has ended.”
“Precisely. Time and again, she had balked at selling her father’s business. She knew that it must inevitably fail if she tried to conduct it. Nevertheless, she bravely kept it above water, so that her father could resume when his prison term was ended.”
Norton Granger paused. He sat with chin in hand, his elbow on the table, staring solemnly at his father’s portrait. Farrow intervened with a subtle question.
“You are Miss Legrand’s lawyer,” he asked, “in spite of the crime that her father committed?”
“Yes!” challenged Granger, angrily. “I took over my father’s work. I represent the men whom he represented. Ferris Legrand, though not a man of importance, was one of my father’s clients. I took it upon myself to offer my services to Ferris Legrand’s daughter.”
“Commendable,” declared Farrow. Granger softened at the tone. “That is a fine bit of sentiment, Granger. If I may speak from my brief meeting with Miss Legrand, I can say that she apparently appreciates what you have done for her.”
“I know she has,” returned the young lawyer. “But the past still intervenes.” His tone saddened. “No matter what I do, Mildred still remembers that her father was convicted for a crime committed against my father. She seems to feel that that constitutes a permanent barrier between us.”
“Unfortunate.”
“It is. I have tried to argue that her father might be innocent — even though the evidence was complete against him. That makes no difference to her way of thinking. Until her father’s name is cleared, she will never feel free to marry me.”
Slade Farrow nodded knowingly. The truth was out. Norton Granger was in love with Mildred Legrand. The young lawyer’s disappointment at the arrival of Doctor Broomfield to take the girl downtown was merely another proof of Granger’s interest in Mildred.
“It is too bad,” commented Farrow, as he arose to leave the study. “I am glad, Granger, that I have been able to do a good turn through my purchase. Let me express the hope that it may be a step toward bringing understanding between yourself and Miss Legrand.”
THE new owner of the Southfield Clothing Shop extended his hand. Norton Granger accepted it warmly. He telephoned for a cab; then accompanied Slade Farrow to the door. While they waited for the taxi, they arranged a meeting on the morrow to visit the store which Farrow had purchased.
When Slade Farrow entered the cab which arrived for him, he indulged in a broad smile. He was thinking of the past — of his long sojourn in the prison cell with Ferris Legrand, former owner of the business which Farrow had just purchased.
The present, so far as Slade Farrow was concerned, was linked with the past. The future that the ex-convict planned would be built upon this present.
A coupe trailed the taxi to the Southfield Home. Harry Vincent, agent of The Shadow, had watched the house until Slade Farrow had come out.
Tonight, The Shadow’s agent intended to dispatch a report through Rutledge Mann. The Shadow would learn all that Harry Vincent had observed in Southfield.
CHAPTER VI
THE LOST TRAIL
SLADE FARROW stepped from the front door of the Southfield Clothing Shop. He locked the door behind him. A package tucked under his arm, he strolled along the main street toward the Southfield House.
Twenty-four hours had elapsed since the ex-convict had visited the home of Norton Granger. Slade Farrow was now sole proprietor of the Southfield Clothing Shop. He had gone over stock. He had arranged to keep the old staff of clerks. He had also made arrangements to occupy small quarters above the store.
The main street of Southfield was peculiarly free of idlers. Young men were in evidence, but most of them seemed well dressed and bound on business. At one spot, Farrow passed a lighted building which bore the title above its doorway:
SOUTHFIELD ATHLETIC CLUB
Observant eyes were upon Farrow as he passed. He had gone scarcely a dozen yards when two young men came down the steps and entered a roadster that was parked by the curb.
They watched Farrow, saw him cross the street and observed him enter the Southfield House. The starter buzzed. The roadster rolled along the street and stopped across from the hotel.