It was hard work sometimes for Orissa to sit in the office and keep her mind on her work when she knew her brother was completing or testing some important detail of the aëroplane, but she held herself in rigid restraint and succeeded in giving satisfaction to her employer.
On the August afternoon on which our story opens Stephen Kane was to begin the final assembling of the parts of his machine, after which he could test it in real flight. He needed Orissa’s assistance to help him handle some of the huge ribbed planes, and so she had promised to come home early.
It was not long before she entered the hangar, arrayed in her old gingham, which allowed her to move freely. The two became so interested that Mrs. Kane almost missed her dinner in spite of the girl’s promise; but Orissa did manage to tear herself away from the fascinating task long enough to prepare the meal and serve it. Steve came in and tried to eat, for he was at a point where he could do nothing without his sister’s help; but neither of them was able to swallow more than a morsel, and as quickly as possible hurried back to their work.
Mrs. Kane, although totally blind, knew her way about the house perfectly and was able to take care of herself in nearly all ways; so when bedtime came she abandoned her monotonous knitting, played a few pieces on the pianoforte – one of her few amusements – and then calmly retired for the night. She never worried over the “children,” believing they were competent to care for themselves.
It was long past midnight before Steve got to a point where he could continue without Orissa. “In about three days more,” he said, as they washed up and prepared to adjourn to the house, “I will be able to make my first flight. Shall we wait till Sunday, Ris, or will you take a day off?”
“Oh, not Sunday,” she replied. However eager her brother might be she had never yet allowed him to work a moment on a Sunday, and Steve deferred to her wishes in this regard. “We’re pretty busy at the office and Mr. Burthon was inclined to be a little cranky to-day; but I’ll manage it somehow, just as soon as you are ready.”
“What sort of a fellow is Burthon?” asked her brother, somewhat curiously.
“Why, he stands well in the business world, I’m told, and is very successful in handling large tracts of real estate,” she replied. “Also, he seems a gentleman by birth and breeding, yet a queerer man I never met. His chief peculiarity is in being very absent-minded, but he does other odd things. Yesterday he refused to sell a piece of land to a customer because he did not like him, and he told the man so with rude frankness. One day I discovered he had cheated another man out of six hundred dollars. I called his attention to what I described as a ‘mistake,’ and he said he robbed the man on purpose, because he had been snobbish and overbearing. He gave the six hundred dollars to a poor woman to build her a house with, saying to me that he had once committed a serious crime for which this was in part penance, and soon after he platted a lot of swamp land down near San Pedro and advertised it as ‘desirable residence property.’ Really, Steve, I can’t quite make out Mr. Burthon.”
“He seems to have good and bad points, from what you say,” observed her brother, “and I judge the two qualities are about evenly mixed. Is he nice to you, Ris?”
“He is always polite and respectful, but most of the time he doesn’t know I’m in existence. When he gets one of his absorbed fits his eyes look right through me, as if I wasn’t there.”
“Perhaps he is thinking out some big schemes. Is he a rich man?”
“He is said to be quite wealthy. But he is an old bachelor, and the girl across the hall says he lives at a club, goes to the theater every night and drinks more than is good for him. I hardly believe that last, Steve, for Mr. Burthon doesn’t look a bit like a drinking man.”
“Perhaps he’s a morphine fiend. That would make him absent-minded, you know.”
“No; when he’s aroused his head is clear as a bell and he drives a shrewd bargain. Do you know, Steve, I’m inclined to think that speech of his was in earnest, although he laughed harshly at the time, and that – that – ”
“That what?”
“That at some time or other he has committed some crime that worries him.”
CHAPTER IV
MR. BURTHON IS CONFIDENTIAL
Orissa was tired next day and she blundered several times in copying deeds and attending to the routine of the private office, where she alone was closeted with the proprietor. But Mr. Burthon would not have noticed had she set fire to the place, so intent was he upon a bundle of papers he had brought in with him and to which he devoted his exclusive attention.
The girl left him at his desk when she went to lunch and found him there, still occupied with the papers, when she returned. Several people wanted to see him personally, but he told Orissa to state he was engaged and could admit no one. She gave the message to the young man in charge of the outer office, where several clerks were employed, and they knew better than to allow anyone to invade Mr. Burthon’s private sanctum.
At about three o’clock, while she was busy at her desk, the secretary heard her name spoken and looked up. From his chair Mr. Burthon was eyeing her observantly. His gaze was clear and intelligent; the abstracted mood had passed.
“Come here, please, Miss Kane,” he said.
She brought her writing pad and sat down beside his desk, as she did when he dictated his letters; but he shook his head.
“We’ll not mind the mail to-day,” he said. “I want to talk with you; to advise with you. Queerly enough, Miss Kane, there isn’t a soul on earth in whom I can confide when occasion arises. In other words, I haven’t an intimate friend I can trust, or one who is sincerely interested in me.”
That embarrassed Orissa a little. Since she had been working at the office this was the first time he had addressed a remark to her not connected with the business. Indeed, the man was now regarding her much as he would a curiosity, as if he had just discovered her. She was amazed to hear him speak so confidentially and made no reply because she had nothing to say.
After a pause he continued:
“You haven’t much business experience, my child, but you have a keen intellect and decided opinions.” Orissa wondered how he knew that. “Therefore I am going to ask your advice in a matter where business is blended with sentiment. Will you be good enough to give me your candid opinion?”
“If you wish me to, sir,” she said, after some hesitation.
“Thank you, Miss Kane. The case is this: With four others I purchased some time ago a gold mine in Arizona known as the ‘Queen of Hearts.’ It cost me about all I am worth – some two hundred thousand dollars.”
Orissa gasped. It seemed an enormous sum. But he continued, speaking calmly and clearly:
“I thought at the time the mine was surely worth a million. I went to see it and found the ore exceedingly rich. The others, who purchased the Queen of Hearts with me, were equally deceived, for just recently we have discovered that the rich vein was either very narrow or was placed there by those we purchased from, with the intention of defrauding us. In either case, please understand that the mine is not worth a cotton hat. We are a stock company, and our stock is listed on the exchange and commands a high premium, for no one except the owners knows the truth about it. The general idea is that the mine is still producing largely – and it is – for, to protect ourselves until we can unload it on to others, we have secretly purchased rich ore elsewhere, dumped it into the mine, and then taken it out again.”
He paused, drumming absently on the desk with his fingers, and Orissa asked:
“What is the object of that deception, sir?”
“To maintain the public delusion until we can sell out. And now I come to the point of my story, Miss Kane. Gold mines, even as rich as the Queen of Hearts is reputed to be, are not easy to sell. I have exhausted all my resources in keeping up this deception and the time has come when I must sell or become bankrupt. The other stockholders