Constance Dunlap by Arthur B. Reeve


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Page 3

"When Mr. Green was away last summer I heard some inside news about
a certain stock, go it happened that I began to juggle the accounts.
It is too long a story to tell how I did it. Anybody in my position
could have done it--for a time. It would not interest you anyhow.
But I did it. The first venture was successful. Also the spending of
the money was very successful, in its way. That was the money that
took us to the fashionable hotel in Atlantic City where we met so
many people. Instead of helping me, it got me in deeper.

"When the profit from this first deal was spent there was nothing to
do but to repeat what I had done successfully before. I could not
quit now. I tried again, a little hypothecation of some bonds.
Stocks went down. I had made a bad bet and five thousand dollars was
wiped out, a whole year's salary. I tried again, and wiped out five
thousand more. I was at my wits' end. I have borrowed under
fictitious names, used names of obscure persons as borrowers, have
put up dummy security. It was possible because I controlled the
audits. But it has done no good. The losses have far outbalanced the
winnings and to-day I am in for twenty-five thousand dollars."

She was watching him now with dilating eyes as the horror of the
situation was burned into her soul. He raced on, afraid to pause
lest she should interrupt him.

"Mr. Green has been talked into introducing scientific management
and a new system into the business by a certified public accountant,
an expert in installing systems and discovering irregularities. Here
I am, faced by certain exposure," he went on, pacing the floor and
looking everywhere but at her face. "What should I do? Borrow? It is
useless. I have no security that anyone would accept.

"There is just one thing left." He lowered his voice until it almost
sank into a hoarse whisper. "I must cut loose. I have scraped
together what I can and I have borrowed on my life insurance. Here
on the table is all that I can spare.

"To-night, the last night, I have worked frantically in a vain hope
that something, some way would at last turn up. It has not. There is
no other way out. In despair I have put this off until the last
moment. But I have thought of nothing else for a week. Good God,
Constance, I have reached the mental state where even intoxicants
fail to intoxicate."

He dropped back again into the deep chair and sank his head again on
his hands. He groaned as he thought of the agony of packing a bag
and slinking for the Western express through the crowds at the
railroad terminal.

Still Constance was silent. Through her mind was running the single
thought that she had misjudged him. There had been no other woman in
the case. As he spoke, there came flooding into her heart the sudden
realization of the truth. He had done it for her.

It was a rude and bitter awakening after the past months when the
increased income, with no questions asked, had made her feel that
they were advancing. She passed her hands over her eyes, but there
it was still, not a dream but a harsh reality. If she could only
have gone back and undone it! But what was done, was done, She was
amazed at herself. It was not horror of the deed that sent an icy
shudder over her. It was horror of exposure.

He had done it for her. Over and over again that thought raced
through her mind. She steeled herself at last to speak. She hardly
knew what was in her own mind, what the conflicting, surging
emotions of her own heart meant.

"And so, you are leaving me what is left, leaving me in disgrace,
and you are going to do the best you can to get away safely. You
want me to tell one last lie for you."

There was an unnatural hollowness in her voice which he did not
understand, but which out him to the quick. He had killed love. He
was alone. He knew it. With a final effort he tried to moisten his
parched lips to answer. At last, in a husky voice, he managed to
say, "Yes."

But with all his power of will he could not look at her.

"Carlton Dunlap," she cried, leaning both hands for support on the
table, bending over and at last forcing him to look her in the eyes,
"do you know what I think of you? I think you are a damned coward.
There!"

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Tue 7th Jan 2025, 1:04