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Broken Bond

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<h2 id="XV">CHAPTER XV. A BAD COMBINATION.</h2> A look of great relief passed over Crawford’s face as he thanked the clerk. “Friend, eh?” he said to himself. “I didn’t think he had a single one in these parts, except myself, and I’m afraid he doesn’t think I’m his friend now.” The elevator was not at hand; consequently, he walked upstairs to the second floor. Passing along the corridor, he halted in front of number twenty-two and knocked. “Who is that?” came the thick voice of James Stone. “It’s only Win Crawford,” he returned, turning the knob of the door. He found it locked, however, and his partner’s voice called out impatiently: “I’m busy just now, and don’t want to be disturbed.” [78] With a shrug of his shoulders, and a return of the old troubled look on his face, Crawford turned away and went on to his own room to dress for dinner. “Don’t want to be disturbed,” the mine owner thought, half bitterly. “There’s no mistake about it. All of his old affection for me is dead. Heaven only knows how it’s come about, but I’m sure it isn’t my fault!” Presently he was standing in front of his dresser, glancing mechanically at his bearded face in the mirror, and shaking his head. “I’d give all I possess to find out what is the matter,” he said. “Jimmy and I have been like brothers for years, and the way he’s treating me now is almost more than I can bear. I sometimes wish we’d never found the mine, and were back again footing it through the bush together. We didn’t have any money, and we never knew where the next meal was coming from, but—we were friends then.” As he crossed to the wardrobe he imagined he heard his name spoken, and came to a halt close to the connecting door. It was evident that the barrier was a thin one. A murmur of voices came to his ear; but it was much too indistinct for him to make out any words. He could distinguish Stone’s gruff tones, and also the sound of another voice—a much sharper, higher-pitched one. But that was all. With an effort, Crawford roused himself and turned away. “Come, come!” he said to himself. “That isn’t fair. You’ve never been an eavesdropper,[79] and you’re not going to turn to that sort of thing at your time of life.” He went on with his dressing, and at length heard the scrape of a key in the lock of the next door. Crossing to his own, Crawford opened it quietly and looked out. Stone was striding down the wide corridor, and by his side walked a thin, short, dried-up-looking individual. As the two figures turned at the end of the corridor to go on down the stairs, the electric light at the landing shone for a moment full on the face of Stone’s companion. Crawford had a glimpse of a bony jaw, a hooked, cruel nose, and a pair of small unprepossessing eyes. “By George! What an ugly-looking fellow Jimmy has picked up!” the miner exclaimed, as he quickly withdrew his head, in order not to be seen spying on his old partner. “I wonder who the runt is, and where Jimmy got hold of him. They seemed to have something interesting to talk about.” He little dreamed that the subject they had found interesting was himself, and that the object of their conversation had been the devising of ways and means for taking his life. The future, however, was to reveal it all to him, and, although he did not suspect anything at that moment there were others who did. The bell boy had been right. Chick had indeed run for a passing car and boarded it after emerging from the Windermere, and that explained his sudden disappearance from the street. [80] He had been so full of his discovery, and so anxious to escape from the hotel before Doctor Follansbee could see him and connect him with Crawford, that he had run a certain risk in dodging through the traffic and flinging himself on a moving trolley. When he reached home a few minutes later, he found dinner waiting for him, and his chief and some of the others at the table. “Hello, Chick!” was the greeting his chief gave him. “So you’re back at last, are you? I got your message. Have you been with Crawford all this time?” The young detective seated himself hastily, gave an account of the afternoon’s program and then wound up with the startling information that he had heard Doctor Follansbee asking for Stone. At the mention of the specialist’s name, Carter’s lithe body stiffened, and he darted a quick glance at Chick. “Follansbee and Stone!” he repeated. “That combination looks bad. I don’t like it.” <hr class="chap" /></div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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