# The Red Book Magazine/Volume 37/Number 4/Mr. Cray Comes Home

From the Red Book magazine, 1921 Aug, pp. 75–78, 144. Accompanying illustrations by Raeburn Van Buren may be omitted. The final story in the [Joseph P. Cray] series. Included in The Adventures of Mr. Joseph P. Cray (1925).
MR. CRAY COMES HOME
By E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
Illustrated by RAEBURN VAN BUREN
MR. CRAY leaned back in his deck-chair and watched the last blur of land fade away into the mist. He was not at all in a cheerful mind. Behind him lay the world of adventures, London with its juggernaut of life, its complex colors, its mystery, its everlasting call. Behind, too, lay that land of pleasure only lately left, the Riviera with its sensuous joys, its flowers and its perfumes, its Ninettes, its bland incarnation of the whole philosophy of joy. And before him lay a new America, an America which somehow or other he dreaded.
Mr. Cray was neither a greedy man, nor bibulous, but he felt a sad conviction that much of that glad spirit of comradeship and good-fellowship must have passed away, withered in the blight of this strange new legislation. It was an unfamiliar land to which he returned, an unwelcome call which he had grudgingly obeyed. The Cray plant, glutted with dollars made by the manufacture of munitions, required his help in its reorganization. It needed the brains of its founder to open up new avenues of industry. So Mr. Cray was on his way home.
It was the pleasantest month of the year for crossing—the end of May, when the sun was warm but never blistering, when the green seas tossed and murmured before the west wind, which sang him to sleep at night and brought the fresh color to his cheeks in the early morning. The bartender was an old friend of his; there were plenty of acquaintances on board; his place at the Captain's table was flattering. Yet Mr. Cray was melancholy.
It was on the second afternoon out when Mr. Cray, turning carelessly enough to glance at the installation of a fellow passenger in the steamer chair by his side, received a distinct shock, a shock which was apparently shared by the fellow-passenger in question. She stared at Mr. Cray, and Mr. Cray stared at her. The words which finally escaped from his lips seemed inadequate.
“Say, this is some surprise! I had no idea that you were thinking of making this trip.”
The slim woman with the brilliant eyes showed distinct signs of embarrassment. She tried to carry off the awkwardness of the meeting with a nervous little laugh.
“We made up our minds quite suddenly,” she said, “—or rather I suppose I ought to say that our minds were made up for us.”
“Major Hartopp is on board, then?” Mr. Cray inquired.
Mr. Cray gave a great deal of thought to the Hartopps' predicament.
Mrs. Hartopp, whom Cray had several times before encountered, nodded.
“He is over there, leaning against the rail, talking to the dark, clean-shaven man.”
Mr. Cray glanced in the direction indicated and nodded.
“Well, well,” he said, “this seems kind of familiar. I had an idea, though, that you two had had enough of the States for a time. Why, it was only three days before I sailed that your husband told me he never intended to return.”
She smiled sadly. Her eyes seemed to be watching the glittering spray which leaped every now and then into the sunshine.
“Our journey was undertaken at a moment's notice,” she confided. “Here comes Guy. He will be glad to see you.”
If such was the case, Major Hartopp certainly managed to conceal his gratification. He received his erstwhile acquaintance's cordial greeting with marked indifference. Mr. Cray's good-nature, however, was not to be denied. He insisted upon an introduction to their friend—a Mr. Carding of New York—and did his best to dissipate the distinct atmosphere of embarrassment which he could scarcely fail to notice. He was only partly successful, however; and presently, when Hartopp and his companion had strolled away, he drew his chair a little closer to the woman's.
“Mrs. Hartopp,” he said, “your husband and you and I have come up against one another pretty often during the last three months. It seemed to me that we parted in Monte Carlo pretty good friends. What's wrong with your good man, and you too, for the matter of that?”
Mrs. Hartopp turned her sorrowful eyes upon her companion.
“Mr. Cray,” she sighed, “you are one of those men who find out everything. I really don't see that it is of any use trying to keep it secret from you. Guy and I are in a very strange position. You can't imagine what has happened, I suppose?”
“I cannot,” Mr. Cray acknowledged. “You've got me fairly guessing.”
She looked around as though to be sure that no one was within hearing. Then she leaned toward her companion.
“Mr. Cray,” she whispered, “that man—that horrible man Carding—is no friend of ours. He is an American detective taking us back to New York. We are under arrest.”
“You don't say!” Mr. Cray gasped.
“Guy never thought that they would apply for an extradition warrant,” she went on. “They did it quite secretly. We were arrested the moment we got back to London.”
“Pretty tough,” Mr. Cray murmured. “Of course, I always understood,” he ventured a little dubiously, “that there had been some trouble in New York, but I didn't think it was anything they could get him back for, unless he chose to go.”
“The only trouble there,” Mina declared, “was that he got into a set of people who were bent on making money anyhow, and he was too clever for them. However. I will not weary you any more by talking of our misfortunes. You had better take no notice of us. The truth might leak out, and it would not be pleasant for you to be associated with criminals.”
“You can cut that out,” Mr. Cray declared warmly. “If there's anything I can do during the voyage, count on me.”
Mina Hartopp furtively dabbed her beautiful eyes with her handkerchief.
“You are very kind,” she sobbed, “but nothing can help us now. Our pictures will be in all the p-papers; Guy will be branded as an adventurer, and I as a fraud. You had better take no more notice of us, Mr. Cray. We are not worth it.”
MR. CRAY gave a great deal of thought during the next few days to the matter of the Hartopps' predicament. So far, no one seemed to have surmised the truth of the situation, although the man Carding was never for a moment apart from one or the other of them, and the fact that he was a person of obviously inferior social station made the close intimacy a little remarkable. Toward the close of the second day, Mr. Cray deliberately sought Carding out during the half-hour before dinner when he was generally alone. Carding, who did not dress for that meal, was lounging on the promenade deck, and Mr. Cray drew him insidiously towards the smoking-room.
“Nix on cocktails for me,” the detective pronounced. “I've had some. I'll take a drop of Scotch whisky with you, though.”
They took several drops. The smoking-room was empty, and Mr. Cray very cautiously approached the subject he wished to discuss.
“See here, Carding,” he inquired, “is this a serious job for Hartopp?”
Carding became taciturn.
“That man, that horrible Mr. Carding, is no friend of ours. He's an American detective taking us back to New York.”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” he declared cautiously.
“You needn't worry about me,” Mr. Cray declared. “I'm in the secret. Mrs. Hartopp told me all about it.”
Carding chewed his cigar for a moment and sipped his whisky and soda.
“I guess he'll get five years, perhaps more. She'll probably get a stretch herself.”
“I'm sorry to hear it,” Mr. Cray said. “They're friends of mine.”
“That don't alter their being crooks,” the other replied dryly.
“Does New York know that you've got them?”
“Not a word. They didn't believe I'd get the warrant through.” He rotated his cigar to the left side of his mouth.
“They don't know that you're on this steamer, then?”
“Nary a one of them. I'm going to give them the big surprise.”
“What's the charge?” Mr. Cray asked.
“Against him—selling phony bonds. Against her robbing the old ladies of Brooklyn by pretending; she brought spooks to them. They've done some slick things between them, but they're booked for Sing-Sing this time, or my name aint Silas Carding..... Not a drop more, Mr. Cray. I'll be getting a wash before dinner.”
“I don't know what name he goes by now, but they used to call him Jimmy the Eel. He seems to have got in with a swell crowd.”
Mr. Cray walked the deck moodily. He was a kind-hearted man, and the plight of his companions distressed him greatly. After dinner that evening, while Carding was playing poker in the smoking-room, he sat between husband and wife.
“I guess there's nothing to be done about this matter with Carding, eh?” he queried.
Mina's eyes became suddenly bright.
“You're so wonderful, Mr. Cray,” she murmured. “I'm sure you have something at the back of your mind.”
“Nothing that amounts to anything, I'm afraid,” Cray acknowledged. “Carding tells me, though, that he hasn't communicated with New York in any way.”
Hartopp looked up eagerly.
“He told us that. I wondered at the time whether he was trying to make an opening for a little negotiation. The trouble of it is that we haven't the stuff handy.”
“What about that legacy of your wife's?”
“They paid five thousand pounds down,” Hartopp groaned, “and left the rest in case the relatives disputed the will. If this matter comes out in New York, and Mina's name is mentioned, we shall never see that forty-five thousand pounds. It's the devil's own luck.”
“It doesn't seem hopeful,” Mr. Cray admitted, “but we've had some fun together, and if I can make Carding see reason, I'll talk business to him.”
Mina's eyes shone, and her soft fingers clasped his hand. Mr. Cray reciprocated the pressure gently. A little later in the day he approached Carding.
“See here, Carding,” he began, “how is it you and your friends the Hartopps are not down in the passenger-list?”
The detective produced a particularly black and objectionable-looking cigar and lighted it.
“You seem mighty interested in the Hartopps,” he observed.
“In a way I am,” Mr. Cray admitted. “They're the sort of wrongdoers I've a fancy for. They're sports through and through; and another thing—they're clever.”
“Well, between you and me,” the detective confided, “I've a sort of sneaking sympathy for them myself, and the reason they're entered on the ship's list as Mr. and Mrs. Brown, and I figure as one Perkins from Chicago, is that I didn't want it to get about all over the ship that they were a couple of crooks I was taking back to New York.”
“I see,' Mr. Cray murmured; “very considerate!”
It was about an hour after dinner, and a dark evening. The deck, however, was still crowded with promenaders. Mr. Cray inveigled his companion into a more retired spot.
“See here, Carding,” he began, “I'm a plain man and I want to ask you a plain question. Had you heard of Mrs. Hartopp's legacy when you started out on this trip?”
THE detective rolled his cigar round, and expectorated.
“I sure had,” he admitted. “How do you figure that might come in?”
“Just in this way,” Mr. Cray explained. “You found your warrant granted a little unexpectedly, and you found the Hartopps amenable to reason. You've got them on board here without any fuss, and I take it there isn't a soul on the other side who knows that you're bringing 'em along. In fact, you've fixed it so that if you were to turn up in New York empty-handed, ho one would be disappointed or surprised.”
“Well?”
“Now let me ask you as man to man,” Mr. Cray went on, “didn't it enter into your head that a little deal with the Hartopps might be made, some little arrangement by which they could mingle with the other passengers and slip away at New York and you could make a little deposit at your bank against a rainy day? How's that, Mr. Carding?”
“I get you,” the latter said calmly. “You're suggesting that I might be bribed to let them go.”
“See here, Carding,” Mr. Cray argued in his most persuasive tone, “I figured the matter out this way to myself: Carding's a man of, say, forty-five to forty-six years of age; he draws a salary that don't permit of much saving; and when they retire him, in a few years' time, the pension isn't going to keep him in luxury. I take it that it's a man's business as he walks along through life to try and put a bit by when he sees a chance. Here's just one of these chances. The Hartopps aint criminals at all. They're just easy-going, pleasant adventurer and adventuress, who live by their wits and other people's folly. I haven't got a grudge against 'em, although they nearly cost me a thousand. They're not malicious; they're not out to do anyone any particular harm in the world. Are you traveling along with me, Carding?”
“Sure!” was the terse reply.
“Therefore I say that they're your chance,” Mr. Cray ended.
The detective considered for some minutes.
“Supposing I was willing to talk business,” he said, “what would be the price?”
“Two thousand dollars,” Mr. Cray pronounced.
“Nothing doing.”
“Name your own figure, then.”
“Five,” Carding declared firmly, “—not a cent more or less.”
Mr. Cray sighed.
“It's a lot of money,” he declared.
“it's a big risk,” was the terse reply.
“How long can you give me to think it over?”
“Twenty-four hours.”
“I'll meet you here at this time tomorrow night,” Mr. Cray promised.
MRS. HARTOPP was looking very wan and delicate, the next day. Her soft, luminous eyes called Mr. Cray to her side as soon as he appeared on deck. She questioned him eagerly.
“Ts there any chance, do you think?”
“The man can be bought,” Mr. Cray replied. “The trouble is that he wants a great deal of money.”
“How much?”
“Five thousand dollars.”
Her face fell.
“It is terrible,” she murmured.
“Have you anything at all toward it?” Mr. Cray asked bluntly.
“You had better ask Guy,” she answered. “I never know exactly how we stand financially. Of course, if only the legacy had been paid, we should have been all right.”
“Supposing the money was found,” Mr. Cray said, “have you any place in New York you could get to quickly and lie hidden until you catch a steamer home?”
“We have a certain hiding-place,” she assured him. “There would be no difficulty about that. There is Guy over there. Will you go and talk to him?”
Mr. Cray obeyed orders. Major Hartopp took a gloomy view of the situation.
“Carding didn't give us a moment to look around,” he explained. “We had barely twenty-four hours' notice before he marched us on this infernal steamer. All the money Mina and I have between us is about ninety pounds in cash, and about a hundred and forty in a bank in London. What's so damned annoying is,” he went on, “they'll never pay over the rest of the legacy if this gets into the papers. They haven't a chance of holding Mina for any thing she's done—she's been too clever for that; but the exposure will be quite sufficient. Those Scotch lawyers will fight the case inch by inch, sooner than pay over a shilling, if Mina's bona fides is once questioned.”
“Supposing the money was forthcoming,” Mr. Cray said, “your wife says she knows where you could find shelter in New York for a few days.”
“Not only that,” Hartopp declared eagerly, “but I could get a passage back on this ship without any questions being asked. The purser's a very decent fellow, and I've been having a talk with him about it.”
Mr. Cray went back to Mina. She looked at him with very pretty hesitation.
“Does Guy think we could do anything?” she asked.
“The state of your exchequer, unfortunately, seems to place that out of the question,” he told her.
She leaned forward. Her hand rested upon his, and the pressure of her fingers became more marked. There was something about the haunting way she looked at him that reminded Mr. Cray of the first time he had seen her at the Albert Hall.
“Dear friend,” she whispered, “I am very fond of Guy, in his way. He is a dear, of course, but—I am fonder still of liberty. The charge against me is really a foolish one. The only trouble is that it may spoil my chance of getting that legacy. Couldn't you pay him a little less and get him to leave me out? I could go back to England, and be there when Guy's trouble was over.”
Mr. Cray, being only human, returned the pressure of her fingers, but he shook his head.
“I guess I'll see you both through this,” he promised. “It wont ruin me, anyway.”
MR. CRAY was met on the dock by Mr. Nathaniel Long, the treasurer of his company, and hurried away to one of the mammoth hotels. There in their room with great pride, the latter drew from a small grip a bottle of Scotch whisky. Tumblers and soda-water were speedily forthcoming.
“How's business?” Mr. Cray inquired.
“That's what's brought me here,” the other replied. “Joseph, the Seattle Power Works have offered to buy us out as we stand, before we start reconstruction, with five million dollars for goodwill and a premium on the stock. I've brought all the figures, and I've got a compartment on the Limited tonight. My idea was that you might go right back with me, talk it over on the way, and go into things out there. It's a big chance if you've any fancy for cleaning up.”
“It sounds great,” Mr. Cray murmured. “Say, Nat, I've given an open check for five thousand dollars on the Merchants' Bank here—lost it at poker on the way over. I guess it's all right, eh?”
“Sure!” was the prompt reply. “We've never less than a hundred thousand dollars there. Must have been pushing some.”
“I guess the game was all right,” Mr. Cray declared. “What time does the Limited start?”
“Seven o'clock.”
“I'll look after my baggage and meet you at the station,” Mr. Cray promised.
It was exactly fifteen days later when Mr. Cray, accompanied again by Mr. Nathaniel Long, returned to New York. They spent a solemn but inspiring day at the lawyer's and banker's. When the whole thing was over, Mr. Cray for the first time in his life was a very rich man. His program for the evening—although sadly affected, alas, by circumstances—still showed a sense of celebration. After a Turkish bath, a visit to the barber's and the manicurist, he met his friend and late business partner, and the two men made their way to the smartest restaurant in New York, where a table had been reserved for them. With elaborate care Mr. Cray selected a wonderful dinner, ordered, with a prodigious sigh, a large bottle of mineral water, and closing his eyes for a moment, drank an imaginary cocktail.
“Joseph, my boy, what are you going to do about it?” Nathaniel Long inquired. “You're in the prime of life, and a very rich man. You can acquire a post in one of our great commercial undertakings over here, or you can wander out into the world as you have done during the last few years, looking for adventures. Mrs. Cray don't seem to make any particular claim upon you, especially since this anti-tobacco league was started. You're a free man, Joseph. That's what you are.”
“And you?” Mr. Cray asked. “What about you, Nathaniel?”
Nathaniel Long shook his wizened little head.
“I guess that sort of thing doesn't exist for me,” he replied sorrowfully. “I have a wife and eight children. I am trustee of our church, secretary of our golf and country club and commodore of the yacht-club. I shall just rent a slightly larger house and take my ease. It is fortunate that I have not your restless spirit.”
MR. CRAY was suddenly transfixed. He sat watching with sheer amazement a little party of three whose members were taking their places at an adjoining table—Major Hartopp, in his unmistakable English clothes, spruce and debonair; Mina, his wife, looking ravishing in a wonderful gown of filmy gray; and Mr. Carding, only a somewhat transformed Mr. Carding, in a dinner-coat.
The head waiter himself saw them to their places; an obsequious maître d'hôtel passed on their order to attentive myrmidons. Nathaniel Long followed his friend's earnest gaze with some interest.
“Joseph,” he asked, “do you know the man in the dinner-coat—not the Englishman? You seem to be staring at him hard enough.”
“He was on the steamer with me,” Mr. Cray acknowledged.
“That fellow's seen the inside of Sing-Sing more than once,” Mr. Long declared. “Some crook, he is, I can tell you. I don't know what name he goes by now, but they used to call him Jimmy the Eel. He seems to have got in with a swell crowd.”
“He's never been a detective, by any chance, I suppose?” Mr. Cray asked his partner.
Nathaniel Long smiled.
“I should say not,” he replied. “I don't think, even on the principle of 'set a thief to catch a thief,' they'd stand the Eel in the force.”
At that moment Mrs. Hartopp caught Mr. Cray's eye and bowed in a somewhat constrained fashion. Hartopp nodded affably. Mr. Carding contented himself with a furtive grin. Mr. Cray drank a glass of water with great solemnity.
“Nathaniel,” he declared, “I guess that taste for adventure is fizzling out. I've got to hire a dog and a guardian and live amongst the boobs.”
“Been stung?” Nathaniel Long inquired kindly.
Mr. Cray met Mrs. Hartopp's tantalizing eyes and looked away.
“Slightly,” he groaned, and reached for the mineral water.
The End
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1946, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 77 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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