overwhelmed him, and he fell asleep with surprising ease even though he hadn’t taken off his clothes. His dreams were haunted, though, by nightmares in which shadowy, faceless, evil figures were chasing Rebel through a dark, seemingly endless forest. More than once he jolted awake, only to fall back almost right away into a stupor that turned into yet another of the horrible dreams.
It was the middle of the day when he woke up and stayed awake. As he stumbled down the stairs, he spotted a Western Union envelope on the floor just inside the front door. He had sent instructions with the message to Claudius Turnbuckle that Western Union was to bring any reply to him right away, no matter what time it was, day or night. He supposed he had been sleeping so soundly that he hadn’t heard the messenger knocking on the front door.
Conrad practically pounced on the telegram. He tore open the envelope and pulled out a yellow flimsy like the one Sinclair had brought to the house the previous night. This one read:
MORGAN’S WHEREABOUTS UNKNOWN AT PRESENT STOP WILL ATTEMPT TO LOCATE WITH ALL URGENCY STOP ANYTHING ELSE I CAN DO TO HELP STOP TURNBUCKLE
Conrad heaved a sigh and suppressed the urge to crumple the telegram in his hand. That wouldn’t do any good. He couldn’t help but be disappointed, though. He had hoped that Frank was somewhere close by.
It looked like Conrad couldn’t count on his father’s help with this problem.
He took the telegram into his study and left it on the desk. Then he cleaned up a little, shaving and changing clothes. He had to pay a visit to the bank, and he didn’t want to look like he had slept in his clothes—which, of course, he had.
Conrad did business with the bank in the same building where his downtown office was located. He went there now, hitching up the buggy horse and driving the half mile. When he walked into the bank, he carried a good-sized carpetbag with him.
A clerk ushered him into the bank manager’s office without delay. The man stood up and shook hands with Conrad, smiling with the same eager affability that he used to greet any large depositor. “What can I do for you, Mr. Browning?” the man asked.
“I need fifty thousand dollars,” Conrad said.
The manager prided himself on being unflappable, but even he gaped at that unexpected statement. For a moment, he couldn’t speak. Then he said, “But…but that’s a great deal of money, Mr. Browning!”
Conrad nodded. “I know that. I need it anyway.”
“But why?”
Conrad allowed his tone to grow chilly. “No offense, but that’s not really any of your business, is it?”
The bank manager clasped his hands behind his back and squared his shoulders. “Actually, it is,” he said. “I have a responsibility to the depositors to protect their money. You don’t have fifty thousand dollars in this bank, sir, so I’d be giving you other people’s money.”
“You know perfectly well I’m good for it,” Conrad snapped. “You can wire my banks in Boston and Denver and San Francisco if you don’t believe me.”
“Oh, I believe you,” the manager said quickly. He had been taken by surprise, but he didn’t want to offend Conrad if he didn’t have to. “It’s just that there are procedures we normally follow—”
“I don’t have time for normal procedures.” Conrad placed the carpetbag on the manager’s desk. “When I leave here, I need to have fifty thousand dollars in this bag.”
The man ventured a nervous laugh. “You sound almost like a holdup man, Mr. Browning.”
Conrad’s face remained impassive as he said, “If that’s what it takes.”
The manager swallowed hard. “No…no, of course not. You’re well known to be a man of sterling reputation. Of course you’re good for the money. It won’t be necessary to wire any of your other banks.” He went to the door of his office, opened it, and called to the clerk who had announced Conrad a few minutes earlier. Quietly, the manager
It was the middle of the day when he woke up and stayed awake. As he stumbled down the stairs, he spotted a Western Union envelope on the floor just inside the front door. He had sent instructions with the message to Claudius Turnbuckle that Western Union was to bring any reply to him right away, no matter what time it was, day or night. He supposed he had been sleeping so soundly that he hadn’t heard the messenger knocking on the front door.
Conrad practically pounced on the telegram. He tore open the envelope and pulled out a yellow flimsy like the one Sinclair had brought to the house the previous night. This one read:
MORGAN’S WHEREABOUTS UNKNOWN AT PRESENT STOP WILL ATTEMPT TO LOCATE WITH ALL URGENCY STOP ANYTHING ELSE I CAN DO TO HELP STOP TURNBUCKLE
Conrad heaved a sigh and suppressed the urge to crumple the telegram in his hand. That wouldn’t do any good. He couldn’t help but be disappointed, though. He had hoped that Frank was somewhere close by.
It looked like Conrad couldn’t count on his father’s help with this problem.
He took the telegram into his study and left it on the desk. Then he cleaned up a little, shaving and changing clothes. He had to pay a visit to the bank, and he didn’t want to look like he had slept in his clothes—which, of course, he had.
Conrad did business with the bank in the same building where his downtown office was located. He went there now, hitching up the buggy horse and driving the half mile. When he walked into the bank, he carried a good-sized carpetbag with him.
A clerk ushered him into the bank manager’s office without delay. The man stood up and shook hands with Conrad, smiling with the same eager affability that he used to greet any large depositor. “What can I do for you, Mr. Browning?” the man asked.
“I need fifty thousand dollars,” Conrad said.
The manager prided himself on being unflappable, but even he gaped at that unexpected statement. For a moment, he couldn’t speak. Then he said, “But…but that’s a great deal of money, Mr. Browning!”
Conrad nodded. “I know that. I need it anyway.”
“But why?”
Conrad allowed his tone to grow chilly. “No offense, but that’s not really any of your business, is it?”
The bank manager clasped his hands behind his back and squared his shoulders. “Actually, it is,” he said. “I have a responsibility to the depositors to protect their money. You don’t have fifty thousand dollars in this bank, sir, so I’d be giving you other people’s money.”
“You know perfectly well I’m good for it,” Conrad snapped. “You can wire my banks in Boston and Denver and San Francisco if you don’t believe me.”
“Oh, I believe you,” the manager said quickly. He had been taken by surprise, but he didn’t want to offend Conrad if he didn’t have to. “It’s just that there are procedures we normally follow—”
“I don’t have time for normal procedures.” Conrad placed the carpetbag on the manager’s desk. “When I leave here, I need to have fifty thousand dollars in this bag.”
The man ventured a nervous laugh. “You sound almost like a holdup man, Mr. Browning.”
Conrad’s face remained impassive as he said, “If that’s what it takes.”
The manager swallowed hard. “No…no, of course not. You’re well known to be a man of sterling reputation. Of course you’re good for the money. It won’t be necessary to wire any of your other banks.” He went to the door of his office, opened it, and called to the clerk who had announced Conrad a few minutes earlier. Quietly, the manager
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