After breakfast the detective went in search of Harry Adams, and at length found him seated on a bench in the gun room with a bag of golf clubs at his side and an assortment of emory paper, cloths and oil; he was industriously polishing a midiron. The detective’s surprise at finding him thus occupied must have been apparent on his face, for the young man explained:
“They’re Uncle Carson’s, sir. I wanted — I just thought I’d polish ’em up a little. Don’t you remember how he always said a good soldier could shoot better with a clean gun? He used to keep after Fred and me because our irons were always rusty.”
The detective nodded and stood watching the gritty paper slide to and fro over the shining metal. But he had sought out the young man for a purpose, and presently broached it. Harry was surprised at first, and then, as he caught the other’s meaning, incredulous. Readily he agreed to follow instructions.
A little later, accordingly, the two men went in search of Fraser Mawson. They found the lawyer in the room at the rear of the lower hall that had served as Colonel Phillips’s office, arranging some papers, spread over the desk in confusion. It was with an expression of amiable inquiry that he turned to them and waved his hand toward chairs near the window.
Harry began abruptly:
“Mr. Mawson, I’ve come to see you about that United Traffic.”
The lawyer sent him a quick glance.
“What about it? I thought that unfortunate affair was settled.”
“It is as far as I’m concerned, sir. As far as I’m directly concerned. But you remember I told you about a chap named Warner that got me in on it in the first place.”
“Well?”
“Well, he’s in trouble. He got in too far and in trying to get out again he used some money that wasn’t his. Then the whole thing collapsed, and he’s up against it. They’re onto him.”
“What has that got to do with you?”
The young man explained, telling of the obligation he had been placed under to Gil Warner at college. He recited the circumstances in detail, while Mawson sat regarding him impassively and the detective gazed absently at nothing.
“I’ve got to do it, that’s all,” Harry finished. “Of course if I help him out of this scrape I’m through with him, for I see now he’s nothing but a crook, but I was mixed up with him in this United Traffic thing, and it’s up to me to stick — not of course that I knew anything about his using money not his own.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Why, sir, I thought you might advance me enough cash to fix the thing. It would take a little over fifty thousand.”
The lawyer was silent, frowning. He turned his keen eyes first on Harry, then on Rankin, and finally let them rest on the papers before him. With the fingers of his hand lying on the desk he was lifting a lead pencil an inch or so and letting it fall again with a series of sharp clicks.
Suddenly he demanded:
“What has Mr. Rankin got to do with all this?”
Harry replied imperturbably that he had gone to the detective for counsel and had been advised to make an appeal to Mawson for the necessary funds. Another silence, shorter than before, and the lawyer turned eyes that had suddenly grown hard on the young man, and said abruptly:
“Either Rankin is extremely clever or you’re an awful fool, Harry. It doesn’t matter which, since the result is the same. I had feared this — the fact, not the discovery of it — and yet it stuns me.”
The young man looked at him in puzzlement. “What do you mean, Mr. Mawson?”
The lawyer shook his head. “It’s useless, my boy. I can’t understand why you ever — did you think Rankin was so blind he wouldn’t see the coincidence between your urgent need for a large sum of money and the — the means of getting it?”
“What — you don’t mean—”
“I mean that if you attempted to leave this house now, or even this room, Mr. Rankin would probably insist politely but firmly on accompanying you. I don’t blame him. That’s his business. You have asked me to advance you fifty thousand dollars. That’s my business. Inasmuch as your uncle is dead, and as one of his heirs you are worth more than fifty times that amount, I can easily do so. I can get the money for you tomorrow morning in New York.”
Harry had risen to his feet and then sank back again into his chair as one stupefied.
“What—” he stammered, speechless at the horror of the thought, “you can’t mean to accuse me — my uncle—”
“I don’t need to. You accuse yourself.”
“But I... why—”
Another voice interposed, the voice of the detective. With a gesture of command he motioned Harry to be silent, then turned his eyes on the lawyer authoritatively. They were the first words he had uttered since entering the room:
“Mr. Mawson, let’s understand just what you are driving at. Do you accuse Harry here of murdering Colonel Phillips?”
The lawyer’s answering gaze was steady.
“I didn’t say that,” he replied calmly.
“Do you accuse him of being implicated?”
Mawson swung around in his chair.
“I’ll answer your question with another, Mr. Rankin. Do you accuse him of being implicated?”
“I’ll waive the precedence. I do not.”
“Then I don’t either,” replied the lawyer abruptly, and swung back to his papers as if the subject were closed.
“But I think I know who is implicated,” the detective went on, and stopped. Mawson kept his eyes on his papers, and Rankin resumed:
“This whole United Traffic deal looks suspicious, though I believe Harry to be innocent. It’s United Traffic we came to talk about. First, to relieve Harry’s mind, you will advance that fifty thousand dollars?”
“I’ve said I would,” replied the lawyer without looking up.
“That’s all right then. Now, Harry says he came to you for assistance in realizing on his securities for that speculation, and that you helped him. That’s right, isn’t it?”
Mawson shoved his papers aside and raised his head to meet the detective’s eyes. There was a second’s pause.
“That’s right,” he said finally.
“Good. Harry also told me that he had previously gone to his uncle for assistance, and that Colonel Phillips had firmly refused to have anything whatever to do with United Traffic. Also, he advised his nephew to follow his example. That’s right, isn’t it, Harry?”
The young man nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Harry also told me that when he came to you for assistance he informed you of his uncle’s position in the matter and asked you to keep the transaction a secret. He did so inform you?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Well, it’s unimportant anyway. Here’s what I can’t understand. If the Colonel was so firmly convinced that United Traffic was a worthless speculation, why did he invest over half a million in it himself?”
A murmur of surprise came from Harry. Mawson’s eyes flashed into those of the questioner with a gleam of something that may have been anger. He made an evident effort to control himself, and succeeded.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” he replied calmly.
“You told me yesterday that he lost about three hundred thousand dollars,” pursued the detective. “You showed me the entry in one of those books recording the loss. Was that entry made by Colonel Phillips himself?”