The papers reported that the cashier of the Traders' Bank was ill in
his apartments at the Knickerbocker--a condition not surprising,
considering everything. The guilt of the defunct president was no
longer in doubt; the missing bonds had been advertised and some of them
discovered. In every instance they had been used as collateral for
large loans, and the belief was current that not less than a million
and a half dollars had been realized. Every one connected with the
bank had been placed under arrest, and released on heavy bond.
Was he alone in his guilt, or was the cashier his accomplice? Where was
the money? The estate of the dead man was comparatively small--a city
house on a fashionable street, Sunnyside, a large estate largely
mortgaged, an insurance of fifty thousand dollars, and some personal
property--this was all.
The rest lost in speculation probably, the papers said. There was one
thing which looked uncomfortable for Jack Bailey: he and Paul Armstrong
together had promoted a railroad company in New Mexico, and it was
rumored that together they had sunk large sums of money there. The
business alliance between the two men added to the belief that Bailey
knew something of the looting. His unexplained absence from the bank
on Monday lent color to the suspicion against him. The strange thing
seemed to be his surrendering himself on the point of departure. To
me, it seemed the shrewd calculation of a clever rascal. I was not
actively antagonistic to Gertrude's lover, but I meant to be convinced,
one way or the other. I took no one on faith.
That night the Sunnyside ghost began to walk again. Liddy had been
sleeping in Louise's dressing-room on a couch, and the approach of dusk
was a signal for her to barricade the entire suite. Situated as its
was, beyond the circular staircase, nothing but an extremity of
excitement would have made her pass it after dark. I confess myself
that the place seemed to me to have a sinister appearance, but we kept
that wing well lighted, and until the lights went out at midnight it
was really cheerful, if one did not know its history.
On Friday night, then, I had gone to bed, resolved to go at once to
sleep. Thoughts that insisted on obtruding themselves I pushed
resolutely to the back of my mind, and I systematically relaxed every
muscle. I fell asleep soon, and was dreaming that Doctor Walker was
building his new house immediately in front of my windows: I could hear
the thump-thump of the hammers, and then I waked to a knowledge that
somebody was pounding on my door.
I was up at once, and with the sound of my footstep on the floor the
low knocking ceased, to be followed immediately by sibilant whispering
through the keyhole.