The Man in the Twilight by Ridgwell Cullum

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She pulled herself up and seized the pretty beaded vanity bag lying
ready to her hand. Then the telephone rang.

It was the cab which the porter had ordered, and she hastily switched
off the lights.

On the way down in the elevator her train of thought persisted. And long
before she reached the Chateau, a feeling that she was playing something
of the part of Delilah took hold of her and depressed her.

But she was determined. Whatever happened her service and loyalty was in
support of her early benefactors, and no act of hers should betray them.

* * * * *

The scene was pleasantly seductive. There was no doubt or anxiety in
Nancy McDonald's mind now. How should there be? She was young. She was
beautiful. The man with whom she was dining was remarkable amongst the
well-dressed throng that filled the great dining-room. Then the dinner
had been carefully considered.

But it was the delightful surroundings, the little excitement of it all
that left the girl's thought care-free. The shaded table lights. The
wonderful flowers. The dark panelling of the great room constructed and
designed in imitation of an old French Chateau. Then the throng of
beautifully gowned women, and the men who purposed an evening of
enjoyment. The soft music of the distant string band and--oh, it was all
dashed with a touch of Babylonic splendour with due regard for the
decorum required by modern civilisation, and Nancy was sufficiently
young and unused to delight in every moment of it.

The first excitement of it all had spent itself, and laughing comment
had given place to those things with which the girl was most concerned.

"Folks can't accuse us of dilatoriness," she said. "Let's see. Why, we
made land this morning after every sort of a bad passage, battered and
worn, and in less than how many hours?--eight?--nine?--" she laughed.
"Why, I guess a sewing bee wouldn't have got through their preliminary
talk in that time."

"No." Bull too was in the mood for laughter. "A sewing bee's mighty well
named. There's a big buzz mostly all the time, and the tally of work
only needs to be figgered when the season closes. We've settled up the
future of two enterprises liable to cut big ice in this country's
history in record time."

"You've settled with Mr. Peterman?"

"Roughly."

The man's eyes were shining with a smile of keen enjoyment.

Nancy experienced a thrill of added excitement as she disposed of her
last oyster.

"I haven't a right to butt in asking too many questions," she suggested.

Bull tasted his wine and thoughtfully set his glass down. Then he looked
across at the eager face alight with every question woman's curiosity
and interest could inspire. He smiled into it. And somehow his smile was
very, very gentle.

"That's pretty well why we're here now though," he said. "You can just
ask all you fancy to know, and I'll tell you. But maybe I can save you
worry by telling you first."

"Why, yes," Nancy said eagerly. "You see, I'm only a secretary. I'm not
one of the heads of the Skandinavia. I sort of feel this is high policy
which doesn't really concern me. You're sure you feel like telling me?
Was Mr. Peterman--friendly?"

"As amiable as a tame--shark."

"That's pretty fierce."

Bull shook his head.

"It's just a way of putting it. Y'see even a tame shark don't get over a
lifetime habit of swallowing most things that come his way. Peterman
figures to swallow me--whole."

Nancy's eyes widened. But the man's tone had been undisturbed. There was
a contented smile in his eyes, and an atmosphere of unruffled confidence
about him that was rather inspiring. The girl felt its influence.

"You mean he figures to have you join up with the Skandinavia?"

Bull shook his head as the waiter set the next course on the table.

"No. He guesses the Skandinavia can buy me."

"I--see."

Nancy waited. She remembered this man was as ready to fight as to laugh.
Somehow she scented the battle in him now, for all the ease in his
manner.

"I told him it couldn't. I pointed out if there was any buying to be
done I figgered to do it."

"You mean you would buy up--the Skandinavia?"

Bull's smile deepened. The girl's incredulity amused him. He understood.
To her the Skandinavia Corporation was the beginning and end of all
things. In her eyes it was the last word in power and influence and
wealth. She knew nothing beyond--the Skandinavia. A man in her place
would have received prompt and biting retort. But she was a girl, and
Bull was young, and strong, and at the beginning of a great manhood. He
shook his head.

"Well, not just that," he said. "But say, let's get it right. How'd a
woman feel if she'd an elegant baby child, thoroughbred from the crown
of his dandy bald head to the pretty pink soles of his feet? Just a
small bit of her, of her own creation. Then along comes some big, swell
woman, who's only been able to raise a no account, sickly kid, an' wants
to buy up the first mother's bit of sheer love. Wouldn't she hear the
sort of things a woman of that sort ought to? Wouldn't she get hell
raised with her?"

"But the Skandinavia's no--sickly kid."

The girl's eyes were challenging. There was warmth, too, in her retort.
His words had stirred her as he intended them to stir her.

"You think that?" he said. "You think that they have the right to demand
my--child? You approve? That was your desire when you came to me--that
they should buy me up?"

Bull's smile still remained. There was no shadow of change in it. But
his questions came in headlong succession.

Just for an instant a feeling of helplessness surged through the girl's
heart. Then it passed, leaving her quite firm and decided. She looked
squarely into the smiling eyes, and hers were unsmiling but earnestly
honest.

"My approval isn't of any concern. I knew that was the Skandinavia's
purpose when I came to you."

"And you called it a business arrangement?"

"No. You did."

The man broke into a laugh. It was a laugh of sheer amusement.

"That's so," he said. "You were going to hand me the story of your
mission, and I--and I butted in and told it to you--myself."

The girl nodded.

"You were very good to me," she said. "You saw I was going to flounder,
and you took pity on me."

Bull's denial was prompt.

"I just short-circuited things. That's all," he said. Then he laughed
again. "And I'm going to do it again right now. Here, I want you to hear
things the way they seem to me. You think the Skandinavia's no sickly
kid. Well, I tell you it is. Anyway, in this thing. Peterman wants to
buy me. Why? Don't you know? I think you do. The Skandinavia's got a
mighty bad scare right now. The Shagaunty's played out. And I'm jumping
the market. For the practical purposes of the moment the Skandinavia's
mighty sick. So Peterman and his friends reckon to buy me. You're wise
to it all?"

Bull's eyes were levelled squarely at the girl's. There was a challenge
in them. But there was no roughness. It was his purpose to arrive at the
full measure of the girl's feelings and attitude, so far as this effort
on the part of his rivals was concerned.

Nancy was swift to understand. In an ordinary way her reply would have
been prompt. There would have been no hesitation. But, somehow, there
was reluctance in her now. She made no attempt to analyse her feelings.
All she knew was that this man had a great appeal for her. He was so
big, he was so strongly direct and fearless. Then, too, his manner was
so very gentle, and his expressive eyes so kindly smiling, while all
the while she felt the fierce resentment against her people going on
behind them.

After a moment decision came to her rescue. She was of the opposing
camp. She could not, and would not, pretend. It was clear that war lay
ahead, and her position must be that of an honest enemy.

"Yes," she said simply. "I think I know all there is to know about the
position."

She hesitated again. Then she went on in a fashion that displayed the
effort her words were costing.

"We're out to buy you or break you, and I shall play the part they
assign me in the game. Oh, I've nothing to hide. I've no excuse to make.
You will fight your battle, and we shall fight ours. Maybe we shall
learn to hate each other in the course of it. I don't know. Yet there's
nothing personal in the fight. That's the queer thing in commercial
warfare, isn't it? I'd be glad for our two concerns to run right along
side by side. But they can't. They just can't. And, as I understand, one
or the other's got to go right to the wall before we're through. Can't
all this be saved? Must all this sort of--bloodshed--go on? We're two
great enterprises, and, combined, we'd be just that much greater.
Together we'd rule the whole world's markets and dictate our own terms.
And then, and then--"

"We'd be doing the thing I'm out to stop--if it costs me all I have or
am in this world."

For a moment the man's eyes forgot to smile, and Nancy was permitted to
gaze on the great, absorbing purpose his manner had hitherto held
concealed. She was startled at the passionate denial, and robbed of all
desire to reply.

"Here!" Bull set his elbows on the table and supported his chin on his
hands. "Get this. Get it good, and all the time. I wouldn't work with
the Skandinavia for all the dollars this country's presses could print.
I'm not going to hand you the reason. Some day, maybe when your folks
have smashed me, or I've smashed them, I'll tell you about it. But I
tell you this now, there's no sort of business arrangement I ever
figgered to enter into with Elas Peterman, and there's no sort of thing
in God's world ever could, or would, induce me to come to any terms of
his."

Then his manner changed again, and his passionate moment became lost in
a great laugh.

"Maybe you'll want to know why I changed my plans so easily, and came
along down in a hurry to see Peterman. Why I seemed ready to fall for
his proposition. Well, I guess I won't hand you the reason of that,
either. I'd like to, but I won't." He shook his head and his laugh had
gone again. "Anyway, it served my purpose, and Peterman knows just how
things stand--and are going to stand--between us."

"Then it's war? Ruthless, implacable--war?" There was awe in the girl's
tone and her lips were dry. She sipped her wine quickly to moisten them,
and set the glass down with a hand that was not quite steady. Bull saw
the signs of distress.

"Oh, yes, it's war all right," he said quietly. "Maybe it's ruthless,
implacable. But it's part of the game. Don't worry a thing. You're in
the enemy lines. You've got your duty. So far you've done your duty; and
you've made good, and will get the reward you need. Well, go right on
doing that duty, and there isn't a just creature on God's earth that'll
have right to blame you. I won't blame you. Go right on; and when it's
all through, I'll be ready to sit here with you again, and talk and
laugh over it, as we've been doing--"

He broke off. A frightened look had leapt into Nancy's eyes. She was no
longer attending to him. She was watching the tall, squarely military
figure of a man moving down one of the aisles between the softly lit
tables. The man's dark eyes were searching over the room, as he followed
the head waiter conducting him to the table that had been reserved for
him. Bull turned and followed the direction of the girl's gaze. And as
he did so he encountered the cold, unsmiling glance of the other man's
eyes. It was only for an instant. Then he turned back to the girl.

"Friend Peterman," he said.

Nancy made a pretence of eating.

"Yes," she said, without raising her eyes.

Nancy's emotion was painfully obvious. Bull realised it. She was afraid.
Why? A swift thought flashed through the man's mind, to be followed by a
feeling such as he had never known before. Hitherto Elas Peterman had
represented only a sufficiently worthy adversary who must be encountered
and defeated. Now, all in a moment, that was changed into something
fiercer, more furiously human and abiding.

"Does it matter?" he asked very quietly.

Nancy looked up from her plate. There was a flicker of a smile in the
eyes that a moment before had expressed only apprehension. She shook her
head.

"I don't know--yet," she said. Her smile deepened. "You see, I refused
to dine with him here to-night. I excused myself on a plea of weariness.
I really did want rest. But--well, I didn't want to dine with him,
anyway. He's seen me--with you."

"Do you often dine with him?"

The man had no smile in response, and his question came swiftly.

"I've never dined with him."

Bull sat back. His eyes were smiling.

"Well, I guess the answer's easy. You're here fighting for the
Skandinavia. And I'd say you've been doing it mighty well. Maybe
Peterman'll feel sore, but he'll see it that way after--awhile."

CHAPTER XIII

DEEPENING WATERS

Nancy thought long and earnestly over her breakfast. She thought deeply
as she proceeded to her office. Even the business of again taking up the
thread of her work failed to absorb her.

Apprehension disturbed, and a certain sense of guilt weighed upon her.
The vision of the tall figure of Elas Peterman as it moved down the
dining-room at the Chateau remained with her. She had caught the glance
of his dark eyes. She knew he had recognised her; and there had been
neither smile nor recognition in the swift exchange that had passed
between them.

So she answered the usual morning summons of her chief without any
pleasant anticipation. She expected a bad time, and strove to prepare
herself for it.

But alarm vanished the moment she ushered herself into the man's
presence. He was not at his desk poring over his littered
correspondence. She found him standing before his favourite window,
gazing out reflectively upon the grey light of the early winter day. He
turned at the sound of her entry, and his smile of greeting lacked
nothing of its usual cordiality.

Had she observed him a moment before it must have been different. But
she had been spared all sight of the mood that had driven him to abandon
urgent correspondence in favour of the drab outlook beyond the window.
It was a bad expression. It was the expression of a man of fierce
cruelty. It was not an expression of open, hot anger, which flares up,
passes, and is forgotten like the fury of a summer storm. It was rather
the slowly banking clouds of winter, piling up for a climax that should
be devastating. And through it all he had smiled, smiled with angry eyes
that seemed to grow colder and harder every moment.

Nancy knew little of the world, and less of men and women. It could not
have been otherwise. Vital with a youthful optimism and strong purpose,
she had devoted herself to work to the exclusion of everything else. And
before that there had only been the scrupulous care of the good matrons
of Marypoint. A wider experience, a maturer mind would have yielded her
doubt as she beheld the man's smiling greeting now. She would have
reminded herself of her offence, and understood its enormity in the eyes
of a man. She would have had a better appreciation of her own
attractions, and would have long since understood this man's regard for
her.

As it was she snatched at the relief his smile inspired.

The man laughingly shook his head as the girl approached.

"Nancy, my dear, I hope Mr. Bull Sternford gave you as good a dinner as
I would have given you, and--as good a time generally. You look well
rested, anyway."

There was a sting in the words that all the man's care could not quite
shut out. But the tone was of intended good-nature. In a moment Nancy
was explaining.

"Oh, I know you must think me terribly mean," she cried impulsively.
"You must think I was just lying to you when you asked me to dine
yesterday. But it wasn't so. It surely wasn't. May I tell you about it?"

The man came back to his desk, and indicated the empty chair beside it.

"Sure, if you feel that way," he said, dropping into his seat while
Nancy took hers. "But I'm not angry. Truth I'm not." For a moment he
gazed smilingly into the girl's troubled eyes. "Here," he went on. "I'll
tell you just how I think. Maybe you won't figger it flattering, but
it's just plain truth. Now I'm a married man and you're a young girl.
Well, the Chateau isn't the sort of place for you and me to be seen
together in. I didn't think of it when I asked you. I just wanted to
hand you a good time for the good work you've done. Sort of prize for a
good girl, eh? I hadn't another thought about it. And when you refused
me, and I thought it over, I was kind of glad--I might have compromised
you, and I certainly would have compromised myself. You get that? You
understand me? Of course you do. That's what I like. You're so darn
sensible. Now you tell me--if you fancy to?"

Nancy sighed her relief. Her last cloud had passed away.

"Oh, yes," she began at once. "I do want to tell you. You see I think
it's all-important."

"Yes."

The man's smile was unchanged. But there was a dryness in his
monosyllable that only Nancy could have missed.

"Mr. Sternford 'phoned me after his interview with you."

"He had your 'phone number?"

"Surely, I gave him that before he left me after driving up from the
docks."

"I see. Of course. You drove up together after landing. I forgot."

Nancy laughed.

"I don't think I told you," she said. "But it doesn't matter, anyway.
Yes, he drove me up. And the whole of this affair was so interesting I
just had to hear the result of the interview with you. So I told him my
'phone number. Well, right after he'd seen you he rang me up. He told me
he couldn't speak over the 'phone the things that passed, and asked me
to dine. I just had to fall for that. You see, this thing meant so much
to me. It was the first big thing I'd handled, and--and I was so crazy
to make good for you. So I promised. And it wasn't till after it was all
fixed I realised the mean way I'd acted. You'll forgive me, won't you,
Mr. Peterman? I just hadn't a notion to be mean, and I was all tired to
death. But I had to hear about the things you'd fixed."

"And you heard?"

The man was leaning on the desk with one hand supporting his head. Not
one shadow of condemnation or resentment was permitted in voice or look.
And the girl was completely disarmed. But her smile died out and a swift
apprehension, that had no relation to herself, replaced it. In a moment
her mind had gone back to the declaration of war which was to involve
the two enterprises.

"Yes. He told me."

"And--?"

"Oh, it's all wrong. It's all foolish, and wrong, and just terrible,"
she broke in impulsively. Then she became calmly thoughtful, and her
even brows drew together in an effort to straighten out the things she
wanted to say. She shook her head. "I'm sure he can be handled," she
went on deliberately. "Oh, yes. In spite of the things they say of him."

"What's that?"

"Why he's as ready to fight as to laugh."

"Who says that?"

"That's the way they speak of him."

"Who speaks that way?"

Nancy laughed.

"It was just a queer sort of missionary who told me. I met him when I
was at Arden Laval's camp. A man they call Father Adam."

Peterman nodded.

"And you guess he can be handled?"

"I think so." Nancy spread out her hands. "Oh, it's not for me to talk
this way to you, Mr. Peterman, but--but--"

"Go on." The man was patiently reassuring as the girl hesitated. "It's
good to hear you talk. And then it was you who got him to listen to our
proposal at all."

The compliment had prompt effect. The girl's cheeks flushed, and a light
of something approaching delight shone in the hazel depths of her eyes.

"I don't know," she cried. "But it seems to me he's sort of reasonable.
He's kind of full of ideals and that sort of notion. He's out for a big
purpose and all that. But I don't believe he'd turn down any business
arrangement that would hand him the thing he wants--"

"Business arrangement?" Peterman sat up. The laugh accompanying his
words was full of amiable derision. He shook his head. "If he won't sell
he's got to be smashed. That's the only business arrangement that suits
us. We're far too big for compromise. No, my dear. He won't sell. He
asked to buy us. He--this darn fool man from Sachigo. He thinks to buy
the Skandinavia like he's buying up all the mills he can lay hands on.
But he bit off a chunk when he handed that stuff to me. He's as ready to
fight as to laugh. Well, I guess he's going to get all the fight he
needs. He'll get it plenty."

"Then you mean to--smash him?"

"Just as sure as it's started to snow right now," the man exclaimed,
pointing at the window.

Nancy's gaze followed the pointing finger. But it was not the snow she
was thinking of. It was the man whom she beheld staggering under the
tremendous weight of the Skandinavia's might. She felt pity for him. And
incautiously she permitted Elas Peterman to realise her pity.

"Can't anything be done?" she ventured gently. "Have you handled him? I
mean--Oh, I'm sure he's reasonable. Can't the offer be made--more
suitable? More--?"

Peterman's eyes suddenly hardened.

"What do you mean? I haven't handled him right? I've blundered? I--" He
laughed without any mirth. "See here, Nancy, my dear, you're a bright
girl, but don't hand me your worry for this darn fool. You're kind of
tender-hearted. You guess it's a pretty tough thing to see a good-looker
boy go down in a big commercial fight. That's because you're a woman.
This sort of thing's part of business. It's harsher, more ruthless than
even war on the battlefield with guns, and bombs, and stinking gas.
We're going to fight this thing just that way. There's no mercy for Mr.
Bull Sternford. He'll get all I can hand him just the way I know best
how to hand it. And the tougher I can make it the better it'll please
me. See? Now you just run right along and see to those things that are
going to make you big in the Skandinavia, and don't give a thought for
the feller who's handed me stuff I don't stand for in any man. There's
liable to be big work for you in this fight, and I'd say you'll make as
good in fight as in peace. You've got my goodwill anyway, my dear, just
for all it's worth. That's all."

* * * * *

The door had closed behind the girl. Elas Peterman was on his feet
pacing the thickly carpeted floor. There was no longer any attempt at
disguise. A surge of jealous fury was raging through his hot heart and
drove him mercilessly.

The picture of Nancy, radiantly beautiful, seated at dinner with Bull
Sternford had lit a fire of bitter hatred in his Teutonic heart. So he
paced the room and permitted the fierce tide to flood the channels of
sanity and set them awash with the ready evil of his impulse.

From the first moment of the girl's story of her successful effort with
this man, Sternford, this vaunting rival, Peterman had been bitterly
stirred. The man's change of plans at her bidding he had understood on
the instant. The man from Labrador had not changed his plans at the
bidding of the Skandinavia. It was the girl who had induced him. It was
she who had attracted him. Then the boat trip, and the girl's confession
of his having, perhaps, saved her life. What had preceded that incident?
What had followed it? And when Elas Peterman asked himself such
questions it was simple for him to find the answer. He had seen
Sternford, and had judged the position. He knew what would have happened
had he been in this man's place. Sternford wasn't the man to throw away
such chances, either. He had fallen for the girl, and she doubtless
had--The picture he had witnessed at the Chateau had left him without
any doubt. The driving up together from the docks, the telephone.
Sternford had taken her to her apartment. Oh, it was all as clear as
daylight. Then the girl's pity for the man who was to feel the weight of
the Skandinavia's wrathful might. She had said he was reasonable. She
had hinted that he, Peterman, had blundered. There was only one
reasonable interpretation to the position. And it did not leave him
guessing for one single moment.

Once he passed a fleshy hand up over his forehead and brushed back his
dark hair. Once he came to a pause before his window and stood gazing
out at the falling snow with hot eyes. No such fury of jealousy had ever
entered into his life before. Never had he dreamed before of the
tremendous hold this girl had obtained upon him. His claim on her had
all seemed so natural, so easy. He had looked upon her as property that
was indisputably his. He might have learned something from his feelings
when he had paraded her before Hellbeam. But he had not done so. Now he
knew. Now he knew the whole measure of them. And the bitterness of his
awakening was maddening.

Well, Bull Sternford should get away with no play of that sort at his
expense. He warned himself that he was no simple fool to be played with.
And if Nancy wanted the man--But he broke away from under the lash of
impotent fury, and turned to a channel of thought which was bound to
serve a nature such as his in his present mood.

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