The routine never varied. Elinor unlocked the door to a winding staircase, which led to a basement room where the steel vault stood in its cement walls. The five went down, returning shortly with the cash-boxes. The money was divided on the library table. It went by percentages. Hilary drew 20 that last year, each of the others 10—a total of 60 percent. The 40 percent remaining was divided, or sent as a whole, according to the sense of the meeting. Berlin got it all one year, for instance, to Boroday's disgust. Russia generally received a large proportion. The Chinese revolution; the defense of Berkhardt, who killed Ecker the pork-packer; a shipment of guns and ammunition to Central America—thus it went.
Although they preferred only money, now and then the loot included Jewels. By common consent, such gems, stripped of their settings, were put aside for Elinor. They meant nothing to her. Had anyone told her that for several years her share had been greater in actual value than all the money that had fallen to her father she would not have believed it....
Four days or so after the annual meeting, the rector of Saint Jude's was always asked to dinner. And although the reverend gentleman would under normal circumstances have been fishing in Canada, he never went until this function was over. For old Hilary, detesting his creed, respected the man. A certain percentage, then, of old Hilary's share went over the library table, after the dinner, to the rector.
"Use it where it will do the most good," he would say.
"The church organ—"
"Not a cent to the church organ. Buy the youngsters a playground, or—build a lying-in ward in the hospital."
Elinor's mother had died in child-birth.
The last check had been unusually generous. The rector, who had been smoking one of old Hilary's choice cigars, put it down and faced his host resolutely. It took courage.
"Mr. Kingston." he said, "the church needs men like you. Why be a Christian in the spirit and—avoid the letter?"
"Tut." Old Hilary rose and looked down at him. "I am like all gamblers. This annual check to your poor is the sop I throw to luck. That's all, sir."
And his tone closed the discussion. The word "gambler" worried the rector. He thought over it on his way down the hill to the rectory. But his poor were very poor. He cashed the check the next day,...
Elinor was in the library that sunny August day when they brought old Hilary to her. She had never seen death before, except on the streets of Mexico, and for a many years he had been all she had—since her last governess, in fact, had been discovered secreting the rosary and had been word-scourged from the house in tears. She fainted, and wrinkled Henriette laid her on a couch.
Boroday, the Russian, had brought the body home, and now he stood, looking down at Elinor and stroking his English-cut beard.
"He expected it, Henriette," he said. "He thought it would have come sooner, in the Parker matter. I wonder—"
He glanced through the open door to the billiard room, where old Hilary's body lay on the table. He was minded, was Boroday, to wonder many things—whether, after all, old Hilary's dauntless spirit had gone out like a lamp, or if—
This white and carven thing in the next room, with stiffening hands and the gray derby at its feet, surely there was no mystery about it. This was not old Hilary: that was all. But where, then, was old Hilary? The Russian, who had been raised within the pale and on an ancient faith, and who had now lost his best friend, felt all the bitterness of his unbelief.
Elinor stirred.
"He will have to be buried," said Henriette. "The news has gone through the town. The assistant rector of the church has telephoned, and is on his way here now. What am I to do?"
"Let them bury him as they will," said Boroday. "What does it matter? he would himself have seen the humor of it"
Hilary Kingston had been shot during the daylight robbery of the Agrarian bank messenger. He was shot as an innocent bystander, and was referred to by the press as a philanthropist and martyr. So much for years of caution and the annual gift to Saint Jude's.
As a matter of fact, the Agrarian affair was calamitous in several ways. It bore too close a resemblance to a St. Louis matter of several years back, in which Boroday had come under suspicion.
On a Tuesday morning, the cash being more than the bank cared to have about, two hundred and ten thousand dollars was sent to the clearing house. Two clerks from the bank accompanied the messenger, who went by taxicab.