Chapter 15

ARMSTRONG SWOOPS

About an hour after Narcisse left Fosdick, he sent for Westervelt, the venerable comptroller of the O.A.D. But Westervelt came before the message could possibly have reached him.

Westervelt's position�chief financial officer of one of the greatest fiduciary institutions of a world whose fiduciary institutions have become more important than its governments�would have made him in any event important and conspicuous; but he was a figure in finance large out of all proportion to his office. He was one of the stock "shining examples" of Wall Street. If industry was talked of, what more natural than to point to old Westervelt, for fifty years at his desk early and late, without ever taking a vacation? If honesty was being discussed, where a better instance of it than honest old Bill Westervelt, who had handled billions yet was worth only a modest three or four millions? If fidelity was the theme, there again was old Bill with his long white whiskers, refusing offer after offer of high stations because he was loyal to the O.A.D. Why, he had even refused the financial place in the Cabinet! If anyone had been unkind enough to suggest, in partial mitigation of this almost oppressive saintliness, that old Bill had no less than ninety-six relatives by blood and marriage in good to splendid berths in the O.A.D.; that he had put his brother, his two sons and his three sons-in-law in positions where they had made fortunes as dealers in securities for the O.A.D. and its allied institutions; that a Cabinet position at eight thousand a year, where such duties as were not clerical consisted in obeying the "advice" of the big financial lords, would have small charm for a man so placed that he was a real influence in the real financial councils of the nation�if such suggestions as these had been made, the person who made them would have been denounced as a cynic, gangrened with envy. If anyone had ventured to hint that, in view of the truly monstrous increase in the expenses of the O.A.D., old Bill's industry seemed to be bearing rather strange fruit for so vaunted a tree, and that his fidelity ought to have a vacation while expert accountants verified it�such insinuations would have been repelled as sheer slander, an attempt to undermine the confidence of mankind in the reality of virtue. So great was Westervelt's virtue that he himself had come to revere it as profoundly as did the rest of the world; it seemed to him that one so wholly right could do no wrong; that evil itself, passing through the crucible of that white soul of his, emerged as good.

Fosdick simply glanced at his old friend and associate as he entered. "Hello, Bill," he exclaimed. "I was just going to send for you. I want the Siersdorfs suspended from charge of those new buildings. And give the head bookkeeper of the real estate department a six months' vacation�say, for a tour of the world."

But Westervelt had not heard. He had dropped into a chair, and was white as his whiskers, and the hand with which he was stroking them was shaking. As he did not reply, Fosdick looked at him. "Why, Bill, what's the matter?" he cried, friendly alarm in voice and face. "Not sick?"

"I've been�suspended," gasped Westervelt. "I�suspended!"

Josiah stared at him. "What are you talking about?"

"Armstrong has just suspended me."

"Armstrong!" cried Fosdick. "Why, you're crazy, man! He's got no more authority over you than he has over me."

"He sent for me just now," said Westervelt, "and when I came in he looked savagely at me and said, 'Mr. Westervelt, you will take a vacation until further notice. I put it in that way to keep the scandal from becoming public. You can say you have become suddenly ill. You will leave the offices at once, and not return until I send for you.'"

Fosdick was listening like a man watching the fantastic procession of a dream which not even the wild imagination of a sleeper could credit. "You're crazy, Bill," he repeated.

"I laughed at him," continued Westervelt. "And then he said�it seems to me I must really be crazy�but, no, he said it�'We have reason to believe that the books are in wild, in criminal disorder,' he said. 'I have telegraphed for Brownell. He will be here in the morning to take charge.'"

Fosdick bounded to his feet. "Brownell! Why, he's Armstrong's old side-partner in Chicago. Brownell!" Fosdick's face grew purple, and he jerked at his collar and swung his head and rolled his eyes and mouthed as if he were about to have a stroke. Then he rushed to his bell and leaned upon the button. Waller came into the room, terror in his face. "Armstrong!" cried Fosdick. "Bring him here�instantly!"

But it was full ten minutes before Waller could find and bring him. In that time Fosdick's mind asserted itself, beat his passion into its kennel where it could be kept barred in or released, as events might determine. "Caution�caution!" he said to Westervelt. "Let me do all the talking."

The young president entered deliberately, with impassive countenance. He looked calmly at Westervelt, then at Fosdick.

"I suppose you know what I want to see you about, Horace," Fosdick began. "Sit down. There seems to be some sort of misunderstanding between you and Westervelt�eh?"

Armstrong simply sat, the upper part of his big frame resting by the elbows upon the arms of his chair, a position which gave him an air of impenetrable stolidity and immovable solidity.

When Fosdick saw that Armstrong was determined to hold his guard, he went on, "It won't do for you two to quarrel. At any price we must have peace, must face the world, united and loyal. I want to make peace between you two. Westervelt has told me his side of the story. Now, you tell me yours."

"I suspended him, pending a private investigation�that's all," said Armstrong. And his lips closed as if that were all he purposed to say.

Fosdick's eyes gleamed dangerously. "You know, you have no authority to suspend the comptroller?" he said quietly.

"That's true."

"Then he is not suspended."

"Yes, he is," said Armstrong. "And on my way down here I looked in at his department and told them he was ill and wouldn't be back to-day."

Westervelt started up. "How dare you!" he shrilled in the undignified fury of the old.

"Bill, Bill!" warned Fosdick. Then to Armstrong, "The way to settle it is for Bill to go home for to-day. In the morning, he will return to his work as usual."

"Brownell will be here, will be in charge," said Armstrong. "If Westervelt returns, I'll have him put out."

"Will you permit me to ask the why of all this?" inquired Fosdick.

"The man's been up to some queer business," replied Armstrong. "The books have got to be straightened out, and it looks as if he'd have to disgorge some pretty big sums."

Westervelt groaned and fell heavily back into his chair. "That I should live to hear such insults to me!" he cried, and the tears rolled down his cheeks. Armstrong simply looked at him.

"You are mistaken, terribly mistaken, Horace," said Fosdick smoothly. "You have been woefully misled." He did not know what to do. He dared not break with Westervelt, the chief stay of his power over the staff of the O.A.D.; yet neither did he dare, just then and over just that matter, break with Armstrong.

"If Westervelt is innocent," replied Armstrong, "he ought to be laughing at me�for, if he's innocent, I have ruined myself."

"I know you have no honor, no pride," cried Westervelt. "But have you no sense of what honor and pride are? After all my years of service, after building high my name in this community, to be insulted by an adventurer like you! How do I know what you would cook up against me, if you had control of the books? Fosdick, we'll have the board together this afternoon, and suspend him!"

Fosdick saw the look in Armstrong's face at this. "No, no, Bill," he said. "We must sleep on this. By morning a way out will be found."

"By morning!" exclaimed Westervelt. "I'll not see the sun go down with a cloud shadowing my reputation."

"Leave me alone with my old friend for a few minutes, Horace," said Fosdick.

"Certainly," agreed Armstrong, rising.

"I'll come up to see you presently," Fosdick called after him, as he was closing the door. The two veterans were alone. Fosdick said, "That young man is a very ugly customer, Westervelt. We must go slowly if we are to get rid of him without scandal."

"All we've got to do is to throw him out," replied Westervelt. "What reputable man or newspaper would listen to him? And if he has hold of the books for a few weeks, a few days even, he can twist and turn them so that he will at least be stronger than he is now. The stupendous impudence of the man! Why did you ever let him get into the company?"

"Bad judgment," said Fosdick gloomily. "I had no idea he was so short-sighted or so swollen with his own importance. I saw only his ability. But we'll soon be rid of him."

"Can it be that he has gotten wind of our plans about him?" said Westervelt uneasily.

Fosdick waved his hand. "Nobody knows them but you and I. Impossible. I haven't even let Morris into that secret yet. Armstrong's quite sure of his ground�and he must be kept sure. When he goes, it must be with a brand on him that will make him as harmless a creature as there is in the world."

"But the books�he must not get hold of the books," persisted Westervelt.

"I'll see to that. Can you suggest any way to keep him quiet, except pretending to give him his head at present?"

Westervelt reflected. Suddenly he cried out, "No, Josiah; I can't let him�anyone�handle those books. They're my reputation."

"But you have got them into good shape for the legislative investigation, haven't you?"

"Yes�certainly. But there are the private books!"

"Um," grunted Fosdick. "How many of them?"

"Three�beside the one I slipped into my pocket on my way down here. They're too big to take away."

"They must be destroyed," said Fosdick. "Go now and get them. Have them carried down here at once."

Westervelt hurried away. As he entered his office, he was astounded at seeing Armstrong seated at a side desk, dictating to a stenographer. At sight of Westervelt, Armstrong started up and went to meet him. "You ought not to be lingering here, Mr. Westervelt," he said, so that all the clerks could hear. "You owe it to yourself to take no such risk."

"I forgot a little matter," explained Westervelt confusedly. And he went uncertainly into his private office, had his secretary put the three ledgers and account books together and wrap them up. "Now," said he, "take the package down to Mr. Fosdick's office. I'll go with you."

As they emerged into the outer room, he glanced furtively and nervously at Armstrong; Armstrong seemed safely absorbed in his dictation. Just as the two reached the hall door, Armstrong, without looking up, called, "Oh, by the way, Mr. Westervelt�just a moment."

Westervelt jumped. "Go on with the books," said he in an undertone to his secretary. "I'll come directly."

Armstrong was looking at the secretary now. "Just put down the package, please," he said carelessly. "I wish to speak to the comptroller about it."

The young man, all unsuspicious of what was below the smooth surface, obediently put down the package. Armstrong drew Westervelt aside. "You are taking those three books, and the one I see bulging in your pocket, down to Mr. Fosdick, aren't you?"

"Yes," said Westervelt.

"Take my advice," said Armstrong. "Don't."

"It's merely a little matter I wish to go over with him�a few minutes," stammered Westervelt.

"I understand perfectly," said Armstrong. "But is it wise for you to put yourself in anybody's power? Don't hand all your weapons to a man who could use them against you�and, as you well know, would do it if he felt compelled. I could stop you from making off with those books. I'm tempted to do it�curiously enough, for your own sake. I don't need them."

Westervelt was studying Armstrong's frank countenance in amazement. "He expects me," he suggested uncertainly.

"Don't leave the books with him," repeated Armstrong. "Don't put yourself in his power." He looked at Westervelt with an expression like that of a man measuring a leap before taking it. "Take the books home," he went on boldly. "Fosdick has been cheating you for years. I will come to see you at your house to-morrow morning." And he returned to his dictation, leaving the old man hesitating in the doorway, thoughtfully fumbling in his long white whiskers with slow, stealthy fingers.

In the corridor, Westervelt said to his secretary, "I think I'll work over the matter at home. I'm not so sick as they seem to imagine. Jump into a cab and drive up to my house, and give the package to my wife. Tell her to take care of it."

When Fosdick saw him empty-handed, he was instantly ablaze. "Has that scoundrel��"

"No, no," explained his old friend, "I got the books, all right."

"Where are they?"

"I sent them uptown�up to my house."

"What the hell did you do that for?" cried Fosdick.

"I thought it best to have them where I could personally take care of them," said Westervelt, his heart bounding with delight. For Fosdick's unguarded tone had set flaming in him that suspicion which thoroughly respectable men always have latent for each other, in circles where respectability rests entirely upon deeds that in the less respectable or on a less magnificent scale would seem quite the reverse of respectable. They know how dear reputation is, how great sacrifices of friendship and honor even the most honorable and generous men will make to safeguard it.

"Well, well," said Fosdick, heaving but oily of surface, and not daring to pursue the subject lest Westervelt should suspect him. "You sent them by safe hands?"

"By my secretary, and to my wife," said Westervelt.

They kept up a rather strained conversation for half an hour, chiefly devoted to abuse of Armstrong�Westervelt's abuse was curiously lacking in heartiness, though Fosdick was too busy with his own thoughts to note it. He suddenly interrupted himself to say: "Oh, I forgot. Excuse me a moment." And he went into the next room. He was gone three quarters of an hour. When he came back, he said, with not very convincing carelessness, "While I was out there talking with Waller, it occurred to me that, on the whole, the books'd be safer in my vaults. So I took the liberty of sending him up to get them. Your wife knows him."

Westervelt smiled in such a way that his white hair and beard and patriarchal features combined in an aspect of beautiful benevolence. "I fear he won't get them, Josiah," said he, chuckling softly.

"Then you'd better telephone her," said Fosdick.

"I have, Josiah," said his old pal, with a glance at the telephone on Fosdick's desk.

The veterans looked each at the other, Josiah reproachfully. "Billy, you don't trust even me," he said sadly.

"I trust no one but the Lord, Josiah," replied Westervelt.