The girl was new to the late shift; nevertheless she had noticed the lawyer’s habits and considered it odd because Bornick’s daily business affairs were invariably completed before five o’clock.
WHILE the stenographer was still puzzling over the matter, the outer door opened and a weary, hollow-cheeked man entered. He removed his hat to reveal a shining bald pate. He bowed and introduced himself as Danton Califax.
“Mr. Bornick is expecting you,” acknowledged the stenographer. “Have a chair, Mr. Califax, while I tell him that you are here.”
She went to Bornick’s office. This time her rap was answered by a sharp command to enter. Opening the door, the girl found Thurney in conference with Bornick.
“Mr. Califax is here.”
“Tell him to come in,” ordered Bornick.
As soon as the door closed behind the girl, Bornick arose and strode to the side of the room. He opened another door and pointed to a hallway that joined the main corridor. Thurney arose, nodding, and made his exit. Bornick closed the door and went back to his desk. He was seated there when Califax entered.
“Sorry to have kept you here late, Bornick,” began Califax. “But I am troubled about this matter of Revoort. That catastrophe aboard the steamship Tropical may have concerned him.”
“Perhaps it did,” agreed Bornick, “but why should it concern you, Califax? I thought you had decided to wait until Revoort called to see you; and to let the matter pass if he did not arrive.”
“So I did decide. But Jurrice called me today and he seemed quite alarmed. He received a report at noon; apparently Revoort is missing. Jurrice thinks the man met with foul play.”
“Not at all an unlikely theory. Again, I ask you, why do you feel concerned?”
“Because,” declared Califax, deliberately, “I believe that we should inform the police — or the port authorities — regarding what we know of Revoort. I am convinced, Bornick, that the fire aboard the Tropical was of incendiary origin, started by rascals who sought Revoort’s wealth.”
“I see.” Bornick smiled. “Jurrice, however, does not want you to inform the law.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because he called me also. He was disturbed by your statement that you believed all should be made public. I told him that I would talk to you this afternoon.”
“You mean that you agreed with Jurrice?”
“Absolutely. For the present, Califax, no one should make a statement. Give the authorities time to start their investigation. Let them seek facts. If mystery clouds the issue, then make your statement. In spite of Jurrice.
“Right now, however, you would be taking a most unwise course. You are not involved in any manner. You merely chanced to know that one passenger aboard the Tropical was supposed to have a fortune with him.
“Perhaps Revoort is safe. His wealth may be on board, secure from harm. You were never in his confidence; it was Jurrice — not Revoort — who talked to you. I am still your counselor, Califax. I advise no hasty step.”
THE convincing words brought a slow nod from Califax. Bornick perched his elbow on the desk and wagged a heavy finger.
“If Jurrice calls you again,” he stated, “state that you have given me full discretion in this matter. Let me handle Jurrice, while I watch the reports concerning Revoort. Should the time come to speak, the duty will be mine.”
“I suppose you are right, Bornick,” decided Califax. “After all, the whole thing lies between Jurrice and Revoort. Yet if robbery is uncovered, I shall be ill at ease. There have been many jewel thefts lately. I have gems of my own; and they may be sought.”
“Don’t worry.” Bornick shook his head. “Certain of those past robberies concerned my own clients; and I know for a fact that the crooks were after large hauls. They knew the extent of the valuables before they went after them.”
“Some persons have seen my gems,” reminded Califax. “One man in particular, whom I did not like. A young upstart, who still persists in calling upon my niece, Patricia. I believe you met him, Califax — the fellow’s name was Thurney. Albert Thurney.”
“I know him,” nodded Bornick. “I called at his apartment a few times, to look over some plans for a stock company which he wants to promote. Mining enterprises, that look quite substantial; but I think his game may be to have me recommend him to my friends.
“Should I do so, I would have difficulty in checking on his later activities. He might offer bad stocks along with the good. He might have various swindles up his sleeve.”
“Could he be looking for opportunities to rob?”
“I don’t think so, Califax. No, this chap Thurney doesn’t strike me as bad as all that. Forget the fellow; I’m keeping an eye on him.”
Bornick arose, shook hands with his visitor and ushered Califax to the door. Returning to his desk, the lawyer took the swivel chair and turned to the window. He sat with one hand on the telephone, delaying some intended call while he watched to see if blue lights blinked again.
MEANWHILE, Albert Thurney had reached a new destination. This was a crowded office in Manhattan’s downtown section. Close to Wall Street, with broad windows fronting on a thoroughfare, this office had become a thronging point for anxious-eyed persons who were watched by curious crowds outside the door. It was the headquarters of the Coastal Mercantile Marine, owners of the steamship Tropical.
Thurney gained admittance because of his businesslike manner. Strolling to a quiet corner, he watched men behind the counter as they talked to worried persons who had friends and relatives aboard the steamship. The employees were assuring everyone that the Tropical would arrive within a few hours.
A list of passengers had been posted; most of these names were checked as those of persons who were safe. The captain of the Tropical had radioed all obtainable information; it was possible, however, that some passengers had been absent from the roll calls.
AMONG the group about the board was a tall man with heavy mustache, whose face was dark-complexioned. He was not conspicuous, for several South Americans were present and he looked like one of their number. In fact, Thurney did not notice him as he walked over to the counter and spoke confidentially to a clerk.
“My name,” informed the dark man in an undertone, “is Carl Ramorez. I am concerned about a passenger named Louis Revoort, who may be missing from the Tropical.”
He ceased his smoothly purred English to give the clerk a card. “Here is my address. Kindly notify me at once if you receive definite word of Mr. Revoort.”
The clerk nodded and pocketed the card. Ramorez went back to study the board. A wiry young man arrived at the counter and introduced himself as Clyde Burke of the Classic. The clerk asked him to wait and see the office manager.
“Here he comes now,” concluded the clerk, pointing to a door marked “Private,” which had opened. “Stay right here, Mr. Burke. I shall introduce you to Mr. Roquil.”
The manager was coming from his office; with him was a talkative, pale-faced man. Sounds of the fellow’s speech reached three listeners: Thurney, Ramorez and Burke.
“There must be some way of learning!” was the pale-faced man’s protest. “I must know about my friend, Louis Revoort! At once, I tell you! It is vital!”
“Be calm, Mr. Jurrice,” insisted the manager. “The Tropical will arrive within a few hours. I can give you a pass to visit the pier.”
“That won’t do!” returned Jurrice. “You must radio the ship and get word back to me. At once!”
“Very well. I shall do so. Do you wish to remain in my office?”
“No. I shall be at my apartment. You have the name — the Bragelonne — and the number of my suite is 602.”
“All right, Mr. Jurrice.”