IT was the next afternoon. A gaunt, gray-haired man was seated in a little office, reading an evening newspaper. One column carried a lengthy story of a police raid: the fray that had resulted in the death of four bank robbers. But this story did not interest him.
The gray-haired man was studying another column giving the account of an estate that had been settled.
Blinking perplexedly through his heavy, tortoise-shell spectacles, he was learning that the estate of Tobias Dolger had come to less than fifty thousand dollars.
A knock at the door. The gray-haired man looked up. He laid the newspaper aside and issued a summons to enter. The door opened and two young men stepped into the room. The visitors looked much alike, and the man in the chair blinked as he surveyed them.
Both were tall and well-built. Each had aristocratic features. A high-bridged nose, brown eyes and black hair — the description answered one as well as the other. The sole difference lay in the ages of the pair.
One man appeared to be in his thirties; the other not more than twenty-five.
“You are Philip Lyken?”
The question came from the elder of the two visitors. The gray-haired man stared dumfounded. The voice, like the features, seemed an echo from the past. Finding himself, Lyken nodded as he arose from his chair.
“I am Perry Dolger,” announced the older visitor. “A grandson of Tobias Dolger. Allow me to introduce my cousin, Zane Dolger.”
“My word!” exclaimed Lyken. “I knew the two of you the moment that you came in. That is, I recognized you, but I could not believe my eyes. Sit down, gentlemen, sit down. Oddly, I was just this minute reading about your grandfather’s estate.”
“A matter which we have come to discuss with you, Mr. Lyken,” responded Perry Dolger, with a slight smile.
“To discuss with me?” Lyken stared suddenly as he heard the statement. “You mean your grandfather’s estate — the amount of it—”
“Exactly,” put in Zane Dolger, in a tone that resembled his cousin’s. “We inquired for you in the store downstairs. The clerk sent us up here. You have guessed it, Mr. Lyken. We are interested in our grandfather’s estate.”
“But — but” — Lyken paused — “I don’t quite understand. I am a jeweler — not a lawyer. I knew your grandfather only as a customer.”
“Let me explain,” stated Perry Dolger. “Be seated, Mr. Lyken. After I have told the story, perhaps you will agree that you can aid us.”
THE jeweler took his chair by the desk and clasped both hands across one knee. He seemed perplexed, yet his blinking eyes looked troubled as well.
“We two,” declared Perry Dolger, “are grandsons of Tobias Dolger. We are the only heirs to his estate — and our legacy, Mr. Lyken, should amount to a few millions. Do you agree?”
“Why yes,” admitted Lyken. “But the newspaper—”
“The newspaper says that the estate does not exceed fifty thousand dollars. It includes the old brownstone house in which our grandfather lived. The house in which we are now residing, my cousin Zane and myself. But it is due to our residence there, Mr. Lyken, that we feel sure our estate should amount to more than a trifling fifty thousand.”
“How so?”
“Because we have searched through the house. By chance, we uncovered a secret room; in it, an old desk. In a drawer, my cousin Zane found the rough draft of a letter that our grandfather had written. The letter is incomplete; but it states—”
Perry Dolger paused to bring a sheet of paper from his pocket. He unfolded it and read this statement:
“Unless I should make a new proviso concerning my estate, the same to be done by will and testament, the secret of the wealth will rest with those to whom I choose to give the rings. It will be their duty to see that the funds are properly divided.”
“Go on,” said Lyken, cautiously.
“That is all,” stated Perry.
“I see.” Lyken nodded in owlish fashion. “So, since I happened to be a jeweler, you decided that I must know something about rings. I do; but not about the rings you mention.”
“The signet rings?” questioned Perry.
“Signet rings?” echoed Lyken. “My word! You said nothing about signet rings. I know nothing, I tell you!”
“Unfortunately,” responded Perry, with a smile, “you do. Perhaps I should say it is fortunate that you do. Here, Mr. Lyken” — he drew an envelope from his pocket — “is a letter that we found in the old desk. It was written by yourself, to our grandfather, Tobias Dolger. It states that the four signet rings are ready for delivery.”
Philip Lyken sank back in his chair. His hands trembled. He chewed at his lips and blinked in dismay. His voice quavered a bit as he spoke.
“I know nothing,” persisted Lyken. “Nothing, gentlemen, nothing whatever about—”
“You mean,” interposed Perry, “that you do not care to speak. Come, Lyken. Some one has paid you to preserve silence. Am I right?”
Lyken made no response. Perry Dolger surveyed him calmly; then, turning to his cousin, he remarked:
“You were in the store below, Zane. It’s only a small business. Don’t you think that Mr. Lyken would do well to put some more capital in it?”
“I think so,” nodded Zane.
“Perhaps he has already invested,” resumed Perry, looking straight at the jeweler. “Possibly he was paid to preserve some secret. If so, I should think that he would be willing to sell the secret also.”
“No!” exclaimed Lyken. “No!”
“Of course, Mr. Lyken” — Perry was talking directly to the jeweler — “if my grandfather paid you to keep silent, Zane and I should not ask you to speak. But if some one other than my grandfather—”
“It was your grandfather,” broke in Lyken. “He paid me. That was it. I cannot betray your grandfather’s secret—”
“How much did he pay you?” asked Zane.
“One thousand dollars,” returned Lyken. “That was all. Your grandfather wanted—”
“My grandfather paid you?” interposed Perry. “He gave you cash to preserve a secret, yet left those papers where they might be found. Come, Lyken. It does not hold water. I grant that you received a thousand dollars. I have money of my own and I am willing to duplicate the sum. But I must know who paid you for silence, and why.”
“But — but—”
“Remember, you are selling the secret to the heirs of Tobias Dolger.”
LYKEN nodded weakly. This was an effective argument. The jeweler’s eyes gleamed as Perry Dolger produced a sheaf of crisp bills and courted off twenty, each of fifty-dollar denomination. He reached forth to grasp the money. Perry retained it.
“Tell us your story, Mr. Lyken,” suggested the heir. “Then the money will be yours.”
“I–I shall do so.” The jeweler was trying to down his reluctance. “After all — back at the time it happened — I wondered whether or not I was right. I never did understand all about those signet rings. The engraving—”
“Start at the beginning,” suggested Perry.
“Very well,” decided Lyken. “Your grandfather came to me and asked me to make up four signet rings. They were to be of plain gold, of slightly varying sizes. But they possessed a feature which was most unusual.
“The signets, themselves, were loose. Hollow beneath. You understand?” The jeweler paused to make a twisting motion with his finger. “Hollow rings, with signets that screwed into place. So” — again the motion — “with no trace to be seen once the rings were closed.
“Moreover, the screws were to operate in left-hand fashion, so that any one trying to unscrew them would be deceived. That was the cleverest part of the work. I labored long with those rings. When I had finished my task, I wrote the letter to your grandfather.”
“And he replied?”
“Yes. He told me to mail the rings to an engraver. But the address he gave me was simply General Delivery, Utica, New York. I forget the name of the supposed engraver, but I took it to be fictitious, because of the address. My work was done. I mailed the bill to your grandfather.”
“Why do you think he mentioned that the rings were going to an engraver?”
“Because of the specifications. You see, the signets were left smooth; and the spaces beneath them also. Both surfaces, the false one and the solid gold beneath, were left blank, suitable for engraving. I asked your grandfather about that when he placed the order. He told me that he would have me mail the rings to the engraver.”
“I understand.” Perry Dolger nodded. “What happened to the rings after that?”
“Your grandfather was ill,” explained Lyken. “He had become an invalid. That long sickness from which he recently died. The bill had been unpaid for more than a month when” — Lyken hesitated — “when a friend of his stopped in.”
“Who was the friend?”
“Elwood Phraytag. An elderly man. A philanthropist, who still lives in New York. But he is very ill, at present. Ill — and blind.”
“I have heard of him,” remarked Zane Dolger. “Go ahead with the story, Mr. Lyken.”
“Elwood Phraytag had the bill that I sent your grandfather,” stated the jeweler. “He paid it. Then he gave me one thousand dollars. He said that it was in appreciation of my work: and that in return. I must promise to say nothing about the rings.”
“Where were the rings?”
PHILIP LYKEN hesitated. He shifted in his chair; then gazed toward the money that Perry Dolger was holding. The jeweler seemed burdened by a final secret. He leaned forward and spoke in a voice that was no louder than a whisper.
“When Phraytag came here,” confided Lyken, “I do not believe that he intended to pay me a cent more than the actual bill. But there was something I saw, something I discovered, that made him give me one thousand dollars on a pretext.
“Phraytag paid me cash. I receipted the bill and gave him your grandfather’s correspondence, which he requested. He reached out his left hand and I saw” — the jeweler made a gesture — “I saw one of the rings upon his finger!”
“One of the rings that you had sent to the engraver?” inquired Perry. “With the blank signet?”
“One of the rings,” responded Lyken, “but no longer blank. It was engraved on the outer signet!”
“With whose initials?” questioned Zane.
“I do not know,” returned Lyken. “Phraytag covered it immediately; but he knew that I had seen. It was then that he decided to give me the one thousand dollars. How he came to get the ring, how he obtained the bill, why he wanted the correspondence — I do not know.”
There was a pause. The jeweler stared from one young man to the other. Zane Dolger arose from his chair.
“Why didn’t you communicate with my grandfather?” he demanded. “If you suspected that all was not well, you should have gone to him at once.”
“He was very ill,” explained Lyken. “I thought I would wait to hear from him. But he did not write me. I never saw Tobias Dolger again.”
“No wonder!” accused Zane, hotly. “Phraytag had paid you one thousand dollars. It was good business on your part to keep quiet—”
“Wait a moment, Zane,” interrupted Perry, also rising. “It is not our purpose to find fault with Mr. Lyken’s past methods. All that I want to know” — he turned to Lyken, who had shrunk back in his chair — “are the facts concerning the rings. Have you told us everything, Mr. Lyken?”
“All,” nodded the jeweler. “Positively all!”
“You have no idea where the other rings might be?”
“None. Elwood Phraytag has one. That is all I know.”
“Very well.” Perry extended the money that he held. “Here is the thousand dollars, Mr. Lyken. We have bought your secret. Our transaction is completed.”
Turning on his heel, Perry motioned to Zane. The two young men departed, leaving Philip Lyken silent in his chair. Weakly, the jeweler was crinkling the bank notes that he had received; but his eyes were staring unblinking, through his shell-rimmed spectacles.
For in this visit, Philip Lyken saw retribution. Like ghosts of the past, these heirs — these men who looked like Tobias Dolger — had come to claim the secret that had weighed heavily upon the jeweler’s conscience.