_ CHAPTER XX. THE LAST WOMAN
Stephen Langdon was seated at one end of the table, Roderick Duncan was at the opposite one. Melvin, the lawyer, was behind it. Duncan had just related the story he had overheard told by Radnor, and he had brought his recital to a close by making a remarkable statement, which had brought at least one of his hearers to a mental stand-still.
"I am a party to an agreement which was signed, sealed and delivered, in this office, Mr. Langdon," he said. "You are also a party to that document. Your daughter also signed it. By the terms of that document, Patricia Langdon became my promised wife. Under the terms recited in that document, she named a day when we were to be married. That day has come and gone, and I have received no word of any kind from her. I am convinced that you, her father, know where she is, where she can be found, and now I demand of you that information, in order that I may seek her. It is my wish to know from her own lips if she repudiates that contract, or if it is still her intention to live up to it. I have asked you, in Mr. Melvin's presence, twice, to give me the information I wish for. I have asked you once on the ground of our mutual friendship: you declined to answer. I have asked you, the second time, on the ground of love and affection, for you and for your daughter: you have refused. I ask you now on the ground of a commercial transaction, just as Miss Langdon insisted upon viewing it, and with all personal considerations put aside. If you again decline my request, I give you warning that I shall make a call upon you within an hour, for the loan I have advanced. I have that right, under the terms of the agreement, and I shall take advantage of it. That is all I have to say. It is my last word."
Stephen Langdon left his chair. His face was cold, stern, expressionless. It wore the mask which long years in "the street," had given it. He did not look toward Duncan, but turned his face to the lawyer, and said, with cold preciseness:
"Mr. Melvin, you may say for me, to all who may be concerned, that I shall be prepared within an hour to meet all demands that may be made upon me."
With a slight inclination of his head, he left the office of the lawyer. He walked as erect as ever; he carried himself no less proudly, although he knew that he was going to his financial ruin unless the unexpected should happen. Twenty millions is a large sum to pay at an hour's notice. It was not a tithe of the fortune which Stephen Langdon was supposed to possess; yet his circumstances at the moment were such that terrible disaster would immediately follow upon the demand for its payment. He knew it; Melvin knew it; Roderick Duncan knew it. But the fighting blood of Roderick Duncan's father was surging in his son's soul, just then; and, in his day, "Old Man Duncan" had been a harder and a more relentless financier than ever his partner, Stephen Langdon, had become.
"You will not insist, will you, Roderick?" the lawyer asked, as soon as they were alone.
"I shall insist," replied Duncan, with decision.
"Even in the event that I might give you the information you seek? Even in that case, will you insist upon forcing your father's life-long friend to the wall? For that is what it will amount to."
"No. In that case I shall not insist upon calling in the loan. I seek only the information. It doesn't matter where I get it, so long as I do get it, and it proves to be correct. That is all I require."
The lawyer drew a pad of paper toward him and hastily wrote a few lines upon it. Then, tearing off the sheet, he rang a bell and gave the written message into the hand of a clerk.
"Mr. Langdon just left this office," he said. "Overtake him and give him this message. See to it that you do not fail to place it in his hands at once." He waited until the door had closed behind the retreating figure of the clerk; then he turned toward Duncan again.
"Mr. Langdon is only a very little wiser than yourself about what has happened to his daughter, during the last few weeks," he said, with a touch of coldness in his tones. "I am somewhat better informed than either of you, and in order to save my old friend from utter ruin--in order to save his life, for ruin would spell death to him--I shall tell you what you wish to know, even though I have been implored not to do so. Frankly, I believe it better that you should know the truth, only"--he hesitated a moment--"I shall ask you to remember who you are and what you are, and to govern yourself as your father's son should."
"Well, Mr. Melvin?"
"Miss Langdon is at Three-Star ranch, in Montana. She has been there--"
"One moment, Melvin!"
"Well?"
"You said,
Miss Langdon. Do you wish to correct that statement by any change of name? Was it a slip of the tongue, caused by momentary forgetfulness?"
"No."
"'Three-Star' is the name of a brand owned by Richard Morton, is it not?"
"Yes."
"Three-Star ranch is one of his many properties, I believe."
"It is."
"Go on, please."
"I repeat: Miss Langdon is at Three-Star ranch, in Montana. She has been there since a little more than a week after her disappearance. I was the first to be informed of the fact. The information came to me through a letter written by her to me. I have fulfilled the requests made to me in that letter--until now, when I am revealing truths which she wished untold. Through me, her father has settled one million dollars upon her. She now enjoys the income of that amount. That is all."
"The letter! May I see it?"
The lawyer methodically took a red-leather pocketbook from his coat, extracted an envelope therefrom, and passed it across the table to Duncan.
"Dear Mr. Melvin," the young man read, half-aloud, although to himself, "I am at Three-Star ranch, one of the properties of Mr. Richard Morton, in Montana. The full address is inclosed, written upon an additional slip of paper which I trust you will destroy at once; also this letter. I am with Mr. Morton; I am caring for him. More than that, you need not know. I desire you to tell my father that it is my wish to forego any inheritance I might have received from him, but that if he is disposed to make any present settlement upon me, I shall cheerfully receive it. I shall not communicate with him; I do not wish him to communicate with me. I cannot command your silence, or his, concerning me; but I expect it. Unless he should demand of you knowledge of my place of abode, I prefer that you withhold it from him. Concerning others, I implore your entire silence and discretion. I shall communicate with you again only in the event that it should become necessary to do so.--Patricia Langdon."
The letter fluttered from Duncan's hands to the floor. He bent forward and picked it up, his face white and drawn and set and suddenly haggard. He folded the letter carefully, returned it to the envelope, and then, with slow precision, tore it into bits, carried the mass of fragments to the hearth, piled them into a heap and touched a lighted match to it. The lawyer watched the proceeding without emotion, without a change of expression. But he gave a slight nod of satisfaction when it was done.
Duncan did not return to his chair. He stood for a moment before the hearth, with his back turned toward the lawyer; then he wheeled about and came forward three steps, until he could reach his hat which was on the table.
"Thank you, Melvin," he said. "I shall entirely respect your confidence. Good-day."
"Where are you going, Duncan?"
"I don't know. I haven't thought of that--yet."
The lawyer rose from his chair, and rested the tips of his fingers on the table in front of him, bending slightly forward.
"She was a good girl; and you loved her. Don't forget that," he said.
"No; I won't forget it, Melvin."
"And--there are others, just as good; don't forget that, either."
"No. There are no others like her. She was the last woman--for me; the last woman; and she is dead."
"The last woman? Nonsense!"
"The last woman, Melvin. You don't understand me."
"No, I do not understand you."
"Good God! Don't you see how it all came about? Don't you know Patricia Langdon?"
"I know that I won't hear a word against her, even now--even from you, Duncan," said the lawyer, with a touch of savagery.
"Don't you understand that, having put her name to a written contract with me, she would not break that contract, or repudiate it? And don't you see that she has intended, all along, to force me into a position where I would be the one to repudiate its terms? You're a poor judge of character, Melvin, if you don't see that. You have never known Patricia Langdon, if you don't understand her, now. And"--he hesitated an instant--"your association with me has taught you mighty little about my character, if you haven't guessed what I will do--now!"
"What will you do, Roderick? What do you mean?" asked the lawyer, alarmed by the deep intensity with which Duncan spoke those last words.
"I shall go to Montana. I shall start to-night. I shall find Patricia Langdon. I shall live up to the terms of the contract I made with her, and I shall compel her to do the same. I shall make her my wife. I shall bring her back to New York, to her father, to her home, as Mrs. Roderick Duncan. That is what I shall do. That is what I mean."
"God bless you, boy! But--it can't be done."
"It shall be done."
"But, she will never consent to such an arrangement. She is the last woman in the world to drag your name--"
"The last woman; that is it. She is the last of the Langdon's; she shall be the last of the Duncan's, too. She will keep to the letter of her contract, if I force her to it. I know that. And I will force her to it."
"But the man! What will you do with him?"
Duncan stared a moment. Then, he smiled, as he replied:
"After Patricia Langdon has become Patricia Duncan, I will kill him. Good-day, Melvin." _