"I'm not feeling very well to-night.I had a slight cold the other day."
"Take whiskey, George," said Taintor."You ought to know that."
Hurstwood smiled.
While they were still conferring there, several other of Hurstwood's friends entered, and not long after eleven, the theatres being out, some actors began to drop in--among them some notabilities.
Then began one of those pointless social conversations so common in American resorts where the would-be gilded attempt to rub off gilt from those who have it in abundance.If Hurstwood had one leaning, it was toward notabilities.He considered that, if anywhere, he belonged among them.He was too proud to toady, too keen not to strictly observe the plane he occupied when there were those present who did not appreciate him, but, in situations like the present, where he could shine as a gentleman and be received without equivocation as a friend and equal among men of known ability, he was most delighted.It was on such occasions, if ever, that he would "take something." When the social flavour was strong enough he would even unbend to the extent of drinking glass for glass with his associates, punctiliously observing his turn to pay as if he were an outsider like the others.If he ever approached intoxication--or rather that ruddy warmth and comfortableness which precedes the more sloven state--it was when individuals such as these were gathered about him, when he was one of a circle of chatting celebrities.To-night, disturbed as was his state, he was rather relieved to find company, and now that notabilities were gathered, he laid aside his troubles for the nonce, and joined in right heartily.
It was not long before the imbibing began to tell.Stories began to crop up--those ever-enduring, droll stories which form the major portion of the conversation among American men under such circumstances.
Twelve o'clock arrived, the hour for closing, and with it the company took leave.Hurstwood shook hands with them most cordially.He was very roseate physically.He had arrived at that state where his mind, though clear, was, nevertheless, warm in its fancies.He felt as if his troubles were not very serious.Going into his office, he began to turn over certain accounts, awaiting the departure of the bartenders and the cashier, who soon left.
It was the manager's duty, as well as his custom, after all were gone to see that everything was safely closed up for the night.
As a rule, no money except the cash taken in after banking hours was kept about the place, and that was locked in the safe by the cashier, who, with the owners, was joint keeper of the secret combination, but, nevertheless, Hurstwood nightly took the precaution to try the cash drawers and the safe in order to see that they were tightly closed.Then he would lock his own little office and set the proper light burning near the safe, after which he would take his departure.
Never in his experience had he found anything out of order, but to-night, after shutting down his desk, he came out and tried the safe.His way was to give a sharp pull.This time the door responded.He was slightly surprised at that, and looking in found the money cases as left for the day, apparently unprotected.His first thought was, of course, to inspect the drawers and shut the door.
"I'll speak to Mayhew about this to-morrow," he thought.
The latter had certainly imagined upon going out a half-hour before that he had turned the knob on the door so as to spring the lock.He had never failed to do so before.But to-night Mayhew had other thoughts.He had been revolving the problem of a business of his own.
"I'll look in here," thought the manager, pulling out the money drawers.He did not know why he wished to look in there.It was quite a superfluous action, which another time might not have happened at all.
As he did so, a layer of bills, in parcels of a thousand, such as banks issue, caught his eye.He could not tell how much they represented, but paused to view them.Then he pulled out the second of the cash drawers.In that were the receipts of the day.
"I didn't know Fitzgerald and Moy ever left any money this way,"
his mind said to itself."They must have forgotten it."
He looked at the other drawer and paused again.
"Count them," said a voice in his ear.
He put his hand into the first of the boxes and lifted the stack, letting the separate parcels fall.They were bills of fifty and one hundred dollars done in packages of a thousand.He thought he counted ten such.
"Why don't I shut the safe?" his mind said to itself, lingering.
"What makes me pause here?"
For answer there came the strangest words:
"Did you ever have ten thousand dollars in ready money?"
Lo, the manager remembered that he had never had so much.All his property had been slowly accumulated, and now his wife owned that.He was worth more than forty thousand, all told--but she would get that.
He puzzled as he thought of these things, then pushed in the drawers and closed the door, pausing with his hand upon the knob, which might so easily lock it all beyond temptation.Still he paused.Finally he went to the windows and pulled down the curtains.Then he tried the door, which he had previously locked.What was this thing, ****** him suspicious? Why did he wish to move about so quietly.He came back to the end of the counter as if to rest his arm and think.Then he went and unlocked his little office door and turned on the light.He also opened his desk, sitting down before it, only to think strange thoughts.
"The safe is open," said a voice."There is just the least little crack in it.The lock has not been sprung."
The manager floundered among a jumble of thoughts.Now all the entanglement of the day came back.Also the thought that here was a solution.That money would do it.If he had that and Carrie.He rose up and stood stock-still, looking at the floor.
"What about it?" his mind asked, and for answer he put his hand slowly up and scratched his head.
