The Man in the Twilight by Ridgwell Cullum

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It was Nancy's great moment.

"Yes," she said, with a restraint that failed to disguise her feelings.
"He's come down to discuss a business arrangement between the
Skandinavia and his enterprise. That's what you wanted--isn't it?"

The man leant forward in his chair. He set his elbows on the desk and
supported his chin in both hands. His smile was still there, and his
eyes were steadily regarding her. But they expressed none of the
surprise and delight Nancy looked for. They were smiling as he literally
forced them to smile.

"You brought him down with you--to meet us?" he asked slowly.

The girl nodded.

"You did your work so well that he entertained the notion sufficiently
to come along down--with you?"

"I--I--he's come down for that purpose."

The man's eyes were searching.

"Where is he?"

"At the Chateau. He's waiting to hear from you for an appointment."

Peterman flung himself back in his chair with a great laugh. Nancy
missed the mirthless tone of it.

"Say, my dear," he cried at last. "How did you do it? How in--You're
just as bright and smart as I reckoned. You've done one big thing and I
guess you've earned all the Skandinavia can hand you. But--"

He broke off, and his gaze drifted away from the face with its vivid
halo. The wintry daylight beyond the window claimed him, and Nancy
waited.

"How did you persuade him to ship down on the _Myra_ with you?" he
asked, after a moment's thought.

"I didn't persuade him. He volunteered."

"Volunteered?"

"Yes. He was coming down on her next trip. You see, he's making England
right away. He guessed he'd come along down with me instead. He seemed
keen set to discuss this thing with you."

"I see. Keen set, eh? Keen set to talk with me?"

The man shook his head. It was not denial. It was the questioning of
something left unspoken.

The girl became anxious. Somehow a sense of disappointment was stirring.

"Is there anything wrong?" she asked at last, as the man remained
silent.

Peterman shook his head again.

"Not a thing, my dear," he said. "No. You've done everything. You
couldn't have done more if--if you'd been the most experienced woman
schemer in big business. You went up to prepare the ground for our
business. Well, you prepared it in a way I'd never have guessed. You've
brought this hard business head, Bull Sternford, right down out of his
fortress to meet us on our business proposition. Guess only you could
have done that." He laughed. "And this man saved your life, eh? And he
carried you in his arms to--safety. Say he was lucky. That's something
any man would be crazy to do. Well, well, I--"

He rose from his chair and passed round to the window where he stood
with back turned. Nancy's gaze followed him. For all his praise she was
disturbed.

The man at the window saw nothing of that upon which he gazed. His eyes
were unsmiling now that the girl could no longer observe them. They were
the eyes of a man of unbridled jealous fury. They were burning with an
insensate hatred for the man who had hitherto been only a stranger rival
in business.

Oh, he understood. Was it likely that this Bull Sternford was going to
yield for a business proposition in this fashion at the request of a
formidable rival? Was he going to change all his plans at the bidding of
the Skandinavia, and seize the first boat to come and tell them he was
prepared to fall for any plans they might design to beat him? Not
likely. No. It was the girl he had fallen for. He had changed his plans
for her, and for his nerve he had reaped a harvest such as he, Peterman,
had never reaped. He had held this beautiful creature in his arms, this
innocent, red-haired child, whom he, Peterman, had marked down for his
own. For how long? And she was all unconscious. Oh, it was maddening,
infuriating. And--

Suddenly he came back to the desk. Nancy was relieved as she beheld the
familiar smiling kindness in his eyes.

"Well, my dear. I can't tell you how delighted I am to get you back," he
said, pausing at her side. "My work's not been by any means satisfactory
with you away. There's just no one suits me in this house like you. But
the thing I'm most glad about is your success. That's been wonderful. I
felt you would make good, but I didn't know how good. Now I'm going to
ring this fellow up and fix things to see him. Meanwhile you get your
big report of the camps ready for the Board. Then, when you're ready,
I'm going to let them see you, and hear it all from you first hand, and
I'm going to get them to give you the head of the forestry department
right here. It'll be a mighty jump, but--well--"

Nancy was on her feet and her eyes were shining a gratitude which words
could never express. Impulsively she held out a hand in ardent thanks.

"Why, say--" she began.

The man had seized the delicate tapering fingers and held them warmly in
the palms of both of his.

"Now just don't say a thing," he said. "I know. I know just how you
feel, and the things you want to say. But don't. You've earned the best,
and I'm going to see you get it. I'm going to lose a smart secretary,
but I don't care if I make one good little friend. Now, Nancy, what
about to-night? I think we ought to celebrate your triumphant return
with a little dinner up at the Chateau. What say? Will you--honour me?
Eight o'clock. Thank goodness we're not a dry country yet, and it's
still possible to enjoy our successful moments properly. Will you?"

Nancy longed to withdraw the hand the man still held. It was curious.
Every word he said expressed just those things and tributes which her
girlish vanity had desired. There was not a word in all of it to give
offence. But for the second time she experienced a sense of trouble
which her woman's instinct prompted, and a feeling akin to panic
stirred. But she resisted it, as she knew she must, and her mind was
quite made up.

"You're--very kind," she said, with all the earnestness she could
summon, and with a gentleness that was intended to disarm. "But I'm so
very--very tired. You don't know what it was like on the _Myra_. We were
battered and beaten almost to death. I feel as if I needed sleep for a
week."

The man released her hand lingeringly. His disappointment was intense,
but he smiled.

"Why, sure," he said, "if you feel that way. I hadn't thought."

Then he turned abruptly back to his desk. "That's all right. Guess
we'll leave it. You go right home and get your rest."

For a moment Nancy hesitated. She was fearful of giving offence. She
felt the man's disappointment in his tone, and in the manner of his
turning away. But she dared not yield to his request. Suddenly she
remembered, and all hesitation passed.

"I--I just want to thank you for your kind thought sending me those
flowers and fruit," she exclaimed. "I wanted to thank you before, but I
was too excited with my news. I--"

The man cut her short.

"That's all right, my dear," he said. Then he nodded and deliberately
turned to his work. "I'm glad. Now--just run right along home
and--rest."

CHAPTER XI

DRAWN SWORDS

The palatial halls and public rooms of the hotel were crowded.
Everywhere was the hum of voices, which penetrated even to the intended
quiet of the writing rooms. Every now and then the monotony of it all
was broken by the high-pitched, youthful voices of the messenger boys
seeking out their victims.

Bull Sternford was at work. Within an hour of his arrival he was plunged
in the affairs connected with the great business organisation he
projected. The earlier date of his visit to Quebec had necessitated
considerable changes in plans already prepared. He had entailed for
himself endless added work for the pleasure of the companionship of a
beautiful girl on the journey down the coast, and begrudged no detail of
it. Just now he was writing to a number of important people, bankers and
financial men, re-arranging appointments to suit his change of plans.

There was something tremendously purposeful in the poise of the man's
body as he sat at one of the many writing tables scattered about the
smoking lounge. There were few passers-by who did not glance a second
time in his direction with that curiosity which is unfailing in human
nature at sight of an unusual specimen of their kind.

Twice a name was called by a uniformed boy in that unintelligible
fashion which seems to be the habit of his species. The boy hovered
round. Then he came up behind the chair on which Bull was seated and
hurled his final challenge.

"Sternford, sir?" he asked curtly.

His victim turned.

"Yes."

"Wanted on the 'phone, sir."

The boy was gone on the run. He had hunted his quarry down. There were
still fresh victories to be achieved.

* * * * *

Bull was at the 'phone, and his eyes were smiling at an insurance
advertisement set up for the edification and interest of those whose use
of the instrument prevented their escape.

"Yes. Oh, yes. Got in this morning. What's that? Oh, pretty rough. Yes.
It's a bad sea most all the time. Why, that's good of you, Mr.
Peterman." His smile broadened. "Yes. You sent an excellent ambassador.
A charming girl. Well, there's no time like the present. Yes. I've
lunched. I'm just through with my mail. Four o'clock would suit me
admirably. Why sure I'd like to. All right. G'bye."

He stood for a moment after replacing the receiver. Then, becoming aware
of another wanting to use the instrument, he moved away.

Returning to the smoking lounge he finished off his correspondence and
took possession of one of the couches and lit a cigar.

For a time the hang-over of business pre-occupied him. But it was not
for long. His whole thought swiftly became absorbed in Nancy McDonald,
with her wonderful halo of vivid hair. It had been the same during the
whole of his journey down from Sachigo, in fact, from the moment he had
first set eyes on her when she entered his office on that memorable day
of her visit. She pre-occupied all his leisure.

He had thought deeply on the meaning of her visit to him, and his
thought had had little to do with the mission she had come upon. Swift
decision had dealt with that. No, it was the girl herself who claimed
him.

He understood the sheer design of the Skandinavia in sending so perfect
a creature to him. That was easy. It only helped to prove their
desire--their urgent desire--to free themselves from the threat of his
competition. But he wondered at their selection.

Somehow he felt that the Skandinavia should have chosen, if their choice
fell upon a woman, a clever, brilliant, unscrupulous creature who knew
her every asset, and was capable of playing every one of them in the
game of commercial warfare. Instead of that they had sent Nancy, with
her sweetly beautiful face and perfect hair, to be their unthinking
tool. He realised her simplicity, her splendid loyalty to those she
served. He knew she was without design or subterfuge. She was just the
most beautiful, desirable creature he had ever beheld in his life.

He told himself it was all wrong. This wonderful child should never have
been sent on such a journey, on such an errand. She was fit only for the
shelter of a happy home life, protection from every roughness, every
taint with which the sordid world of commerce could besmirch her. His
chivalry was stirred to its depths, and the wrong of it all, as he saw
it, only the more surely deepened his purpose for his dealings with an
unscrupulous rival who could commit so egregious an outrage.

Bull Sternford's existence, until now had always been a joyous
heart-whole striving which had no more in it than the calmly conceived
ideals of a heart undisturbed by sexual emotions. Now--now that had been
completely changed. Perhaps he was not yet wholly aware of the thing
that had come to him. He saw a woman, a perfect creature who had come to
him out of the forest world in which his whole life was bound up, and a
passionate excitement had taken possession of him. There could be no
denial of that. But so far the full measure of his feelings had not
revealed itself. All he wanted was to think of nothing and nobody just
now, but this girl who had stirred him so deeply. So he stretched
himself out on the well-sprung couch and yielded to the delight of it
all.

But the hour he had been free to dispose of thus was swiftly used up
with his pleasant dreaming. And it was with a feeling of real irritation
that he finally flung away his cigar and bestirred himself. His
irritation did not last long, however, and his consolation was found in
the fact that Elas Peterman was awaiting him, and Elas Peterman was the
man who had so outrageously offended against his ideas of chivalry.

He stood up and brushed the fallen cigar ash from his clothing. His one
desire now was to get through with the business once and for all, to do
the thing that should leave Nancy McDonald with the reward of her
labours. Yes, he wanted to do that. Afterwards--well, he must leave the
"afterwards" to itself.

He hurried away in search of his heavy winter overcoat.

* * * * *

Elas Peterman looked up as the door opened to admit his visitor. His
first impression startled him not a little.

It was the first time he had encountered the man from Sachigo.

Bull moved into the room with that large ease which big men so often
display. And he paused and frankly gripped the carefully manicured hand
Peterman held out to him.

"I'm real glad to meet you, Mr. Peterman," he said quietly. Then he
dropped into the chair set for him, while his eyes responded unsmilingly
to the measuring gaze of the other.

"It's queer we've never met before," Bull said, leaning back in his
chair.

Peterman laughed. He pushed a large box of cigars close to the visitor's
hand.

"It's mostly that way with the high command in--war," he said easily.
"The opposing generals don't meet except at the--peace table. Those are
Bolivars. Try one?"

Bull helped himself with a laugh that was about as real as the other's.

"The pipe of--peace, eh?" he said.

"That's how I hope," Peterman replied.

Bull nodded as he lit his cigar.

"Most of us hope for peace, and do our best to aggravate war. That so?"

"It's damn fool human nature."

Peterman sat back in his chair, and laughed a little boisterously. Then
he turned to the window while Bull silently consulted the white ash of
his cigar.

"You're projecting a big thing in pulp," the Swede said a moment later.
"You figger to split the Canadian pulp trade into two opposing camps.
The Skandinavia and the Labrador enterprises. It means one great, big
prolonged battle in which one or the other is to be beaten. Guess it's
liable to be a battle in which the public'll get temporary benefit,
while we--who fight it--look like losing all along the line. It seems a
pity, eh?"

"War's a tough proposition, anyway," Bull replied slowly. "Its only
excuse is it's Nature's way of wiping out the fool mistakes and crimes
human nature spends most of its time committing. If two sets of
criminals set out to grab, it's odds they'll do hurt to each other, and
end by leaving the world easier when they're completely despoiled."

Peterman laughed.

"Sure," he said. "And these fool criminals? Is there need for them to
fall out?"

"None."

"That's how we of the Skandinavia feel. That's the notion always in my
mind. Say--"

"Yep?"

Bull's eyes were squarely gazing. Their clear depths looked straight
into the dark eyes of the man at the desk. Their regard was intense. It
was almost disconcerting.

"What's the proposition?" he went on. And his firm lips closed over the
last word and contrived to transform the simple question into a definite
challenge.

Peterman stirred uneasily. At that moment he beheld more clearly than
ever the picture of this man with his great arms about the body of the
woman he coveted, and feeling lent sharpness to his tone.

"What's the price you set on your enterprise up at Labrador?" he said.

Bull removed his cigar. He emitted a pensive stream of smoke. His eyes
were again pre-occupied with the white ash, so firm and clean on its
tip. Then quite suddenly he looked up.

"If you'll tell me the price you set on the whole of the Skandinavia,
I'll talk."

"What d'you mean?"

The Swede had less command of his feelings than the other. He had never
learnt the methods of the forest as Bull had learned them.

"Why, I can't set a price on Sachigo till I know the price you set on
the Skandinavia," Bull's eyes were smiling. "You see I should need to
double it for--Sachigo."

The man from Labrador had driven home to the quick, and the Teutonic
vanity of the Swede was instantly aflame. Peterman had committed the one
offence which the younger man could not forgive. He had dared, in his
vanity, to believe that the situation between them was a question of
price.

"I didn't invite you here to sell you--the Skandinavia," Peterman
blustered, giving way to anger he could not restrain.

"No. And I didn't accept your invitation for the purpose of
selling--Sachigo. If there's any buying and selling going on you'd best
understand quite clearly I am the buyer."

There was a dangerous light in Bull's eyes levelled so steadily on the
angry face of the Swede.

"Then--it's war?"

Bull shrugged at the challenge.

"I'm quite indifferent," he said coldly.

There was a moment of tense silence. Then the Swede smiled.

"You're ready then to let the fool public benefit at your expense?"

"No." A smile of real humor flashed in Bull's eyes. "At yours."

"You mean--you think to--smash us?"

"Just as sure as the sun'll rise to-morrow. Just as sure as Providence
set up forest and water powers on Labrador such as you've never dreamed
of since you forgot your boyhood. Just as sure as your Shagaunty's
played out and you need to start in on fresh limits you aren't sure of
yet. Just as sure as they're going to cost you a heap more than when you
were busy treating the fortune that Shagaunty handed you like the worst
fool-head spendthrift who ever broke a bank at the gambling tables."

Bull rose abruptly from his chair.

"I'm obliged for this interview, Mr. Peterman," he went on. "It's suited
me. That's why I came along down in a hurry. You're fortunate in that
lady representative. Her tact and persuasion left me feeling you had a
real proposition that was worth considering. I guess she'll go a long
way for you, and if there's any live person can help your ship along,
she's that live person. But you can't buy me, and you can't smash me. I
mean that. You see, I know your position. It's my job to know the
position of any possible competitor, and naturally I know yours. Your
Shagaunty's run dry, and, well, I don't need to tell you all that means
to you." He dropped the stump of his cigar into an ash tray. "That's a
good cigar," he went on with a derisive smile. "Thanks. Good-bye."

* * * * *

Bull was at the telephone again. He was again smiling at the insurance
advertisement. But now his smile was of a different quality. It was full
of delighted anticipation.

"Oh, yes," he was saying. "I spent quite a pleasant ha'f hour with him.
I enjoyed it immensely. Yes. He seems to be the man to run an enterprise
like yours. He certainly has both initiative and confidence. A little
hasty in judgment, I think. But--yes, I'd like to tell you all about it.
What are you doing this evening? Oh, resting. I suppose you eat while
resting. Yes. It's necessary, isn't it? Anyway I find it so. Eh? Oh,
yes. You see, I've a big frame to support. Will you help me to support
it this evening? I mean dinner here? Will you? Oh, that's fine. I'd love
to tell you about it all. Fine. Right. Eight o'clock then. I'll go and
arrange it all now. It shall be a very special dinner, I promise you.
Good-bye."

He put up the receiver and turned away. His smile remained, and it had
no relation to anything but his delight that Nancy McDonald had
consented to dine with him.

CHAPTER XII

AT THE CHATEAU

Nancy was standing before the mirror which occupied the whole length of
the door of the dress-closet with which her modest bedroom had been
provided by a thoughtful architect.

She was studying the results of her preparations. She was to dine with
Bull Sternford, the man who had caught and held her interest for all she
knew that they belonged to camps that were sternly opposed to each
other. She wanted to look her best, whatever that best might be, and she
was haunted by a fear that her best could never rank in its due place
amongst the superlatives.

However, she had arrayed herself in her newest and smartest party frock.
She had spent hours, she believed, on her unruly masses of hair, and
furthermore, she had assiduously applied herself to obliterating the
weather stain which the fierce journey from Labrador had inflicted upon
the beautiful oval of her cheeks. Now, at last, the final touches had
been given, and she was critically surveying the result.

The longer she studied her reflection the deeper grew the discontent in
her pretty, hazel eyes. It was the same old reflection, she told
herself. It was a bit tricked out; a bit less real. It was a tiresome
thing which gave her no satisfaction at all. There was the red hair that
looked so very red. There were the eyes, which, at times, she was
convinced were really green. There was the stupid nose that always
seemed to her to occupy too much of her face. And as for her cheeks, the
wind and sea had left them looking more healthy, but--She sighed and
hurriedly turned away. She felt that mirrors were an invention
calculated to upset the conceit of any girl.

She moved quickly round the little room. Her gloves, her wrap. She
picked them up. The gloves she was painfully aware had already been
cleaned twice, and her cloak had no greater merits than the
modest-priced frock which had strained her limited bank roll. Then she
consulted the clock on her bureau, and, picked up her scent-spray. This
was the last, the final touch she could not resist.

In the midst of using it she set it down with a feeling of sudden panic.

She had remembered. She stood staring down at the dressing table with a
light of trouble in her eyes. The whole incident had been forgotten till
that moment. She remembered she had refused to dine with Elas Peterman
that night on a plea of weariness, and without a thought had
unhesitatingly accepted the invitation of the man whom the Skandinavia
had marked down for its victim.

For some seconds the enormity of the thing she had done overwhelmed her.
Then a belated humour came to her rescue and a shadowy smile drove the
trouble from her eyes.

Suppose--but no. Her chief would be dining at home, as was his habit.
Then, anyway, there could be no harm. She was concerned in this thing.
She had a right. She even told herself it was imperative she should know
what had transpired at the interview she had brought about. Besides, was
there not the possibility of certain rougnnesses occurring between the
two men which it might be within her power to smooth down? That was
surely so. She had no right to miss any opportunity of furthering the
ends of her own people.

Then she laughed outright. Oh, it was excuse. She knew. She was looking
forward to the evening. Of course she was. Then, just as suddenly all
desire to laugh expired. Why? Why was she looking forward to dining with
Bull Sternford?

Bull! What a quaint name. She had thought of it before. She had thought
of it at the time when the lonely missionary of the forest had told her
of him.

Swiftly her thought passed on to her meeting with the man himself. She
remembered her nervousness when she had first looked into his big,
wholesome face, with its clear, searching eyes. Yes, she had realised
then the truth of Father Adam's description. He would as soon fight as
laugh. There could be no doubt of it.

And then those days on the _Myra_. She recalled their talk of the
sea-gulls, and of the men of the forests, and she remembered the almost
brutal contempt for them he had so downrightly expressed. Then the
moment of disaster to herself. It was he who had saved her, he who had
fought for her, although he had been in little better case himself.

What was it they had told her? He must be bought or smashed. She
wondered if they realised the man they were dealing with. She wondered
what they would have felt and thought if they had listened to the
confident assurance of Father Adam. If they had listened to Bull
Sternford himself, and learned to know him as she had already learned to
know him. The Skandinavia was powerful, but was it powerful enough to
deal as they desired with this man who was as ready to fight as to
laugh?

She shook her head. And it was a negative movement she was unaware of.
Well, anyway, the game had begun, and she was in it. Her duty was clear
enough. And meanwhile she would miss no opportunity to pull her whole
weight for her side, even when she knew that was not the whole thought
in her mind.

But somehow there were things she regretted when she remembered the
fight ahead. She regretted the moment when this man had saved her from
almost certain death against the iron stanchions and sides of the
_Myra_. She regretted his fine eyes, and he had fine eyes which looked
so squarely out of their setting. Then, too, he had been so kindly
concerned that she should achieve the mission upon which she had
embarked. It would have been so easy and even exacting had he been a man
of less generous impulse. A man whom she could have thoroughly disliked.
But he was the reverse of all those things which make it a joy to hurt.
He was--

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