I
He arrived at home on the following afternoon at six and was
immediately rung up by Spaulding, who demanded an interview. It was not
worth while going down town again, as Hélène was out and would no doubt
return only in time to dress for dinner. They were to dine at half-past
seven and go to the play afterward. He told Spaulding to take a taxi
and come to the house.
Nothing had occurred meanwhile to cause him anxiety. He had taken Hélène
out to the Cliff House to dinner the night before, and afterward to see
the road-houses, whose dancing is so painfully proper early in the
evening. Polly Roberts had come into the most notorious of them at
eleven, chaperoning a party, which included Aileen Lawton, a girl as
restless and avid of excitement as herself. Rex Roberts and several other
young men had been in attendance, and Polly had begged Ruyler to stay on
and let his wife see something of "real life."
"This is one of the sights of the world, you know," she said, puffing her
cigarette smoke into his face. "It's _too_ middle-class to be shocked,
and not to see occasionally what you really cannot get anywhere else.
Why, there'll even be a lot of tourists here later on, and these dancers
don't do the real Apache until about one. At least leave Hélène with me,
if you care more for bed than fun."
But Ruyler had merely laughed and taken his wife home. Hélène had made
no protest; on the contrary had put her arm through his in the car and
her head on his shoulder, vowing she was worn out, and glad to go home.
It was only afterward that it occurred to him that she had clung to him
that night.
Spaulding entered the library without taking off his hat, and chewing a
toothpick vigorously. He began to talk at once, stretching himself out in
a Morris chair, and accepting a cigar. This time Price smoked with him.
"Well," said the detective, "it's like the game of button, button, who's
got the button? Sometimes I think I'm getting a little warmer and then I
go stone cold. But I've found out a few things, anyhow. How tall should
you say Madame Delano is? I've only seen her sitting on her throne there
in the Palace Court lookin' like an old Sphinx that's havin' a laugh all
to herself."
"About five feet ten."
"The Mother Superior said six feet, but no doubt when she had figger
instead of flesh she looked taller. Well, I've discovered no less than
five tall handsome brunettes that sparkled here in the late Eighties and
early Nineties, but it's the deuce and all to get an exact description
out of anybody, especially when quite a few years have elapsed. Most
people don't see details, only effects. That's what we detectives come up
against all the time. So, whether these ladies were five feet eight, five
feet ten, or six feet, whether they had large features or small, big
hands and feet or fine points, or whether they added on all the inches
they yearned for by means of high heels or style, is beyond me. But here
they are."
He took his neat little note-book from his pocket and was about to read
it, when Ruyler interrupted him.
"But surely you know whether these women were French or not?"
"Aw, that's just what you can't always find out. Lots of 'em pretend to
be, and others--if they come from good stock in the old country--want you
to forget it. But the queens generally run to French names, as havin' a
better commercial value than Mary Jane or Ann Maria. One of these was
Marie Garnett, who wasn't much on her own but spun the wheel in Jim's
joint down on Barbary Coast, which was raided just so often for form's
sake. She always made a quick getaway, was never up in court, and died
young. Gabrielle ran an establishment down on Geary Street and was one of
the swellest lookers and swellest togged dames in her profession till the
drink got her. I can't find that she ever hooked up to a James or any one
else. Pauline-Marie was another razzle-dazzle who swooped out here from
nowhere and burrowed into quite a few fortunes and put quite a few of our
society leaders into mourning. She disappeared and I can't trace her, but
she seems to have been the handsomest of the bunch, and was fond of
showing herself at first nights, dressed straight from Paris, until some
of our war-hardened 'leaders' called upon the managers in a body and
threatened never to set foot inside their doors again unless she was kept
out, and the managers succumbed. Then there was the friend of a rich
Englishman, whose first name I haven't been able to get hold of. They
lived first at Santa Barbara, then loafed up and down the coast for a
year or two, spending quite a time in San Francisco. She was 'foreign
looking' and a stunner, all right. All of these dames drifted out about
the same time--"
"What was the Englishman's name?"
"J. Horace Medford. Front name may or may not have been James. I doubt if
his name could be found on any deeds, even in the south, where there was
no fire. He doesn't seem to have bought any property or transacted any
business. Just lived on a good-sized income. Of course, all the hotel
registers here were burnt, but I wired to Santa Barbara and Monterey and
got what I have given you.
"He had a yacht, and he took the woman with him everywhere. There was
always a flutter when they appeared at the theater. Of course she went by
his name, but as he never presented a letter all the time he was here and
it was quite obvious he could have brought all he wanted, and as men are
always 'on' anyhow, there was but one conclusion."
"Where did he bank? They might have his full name."
"Bank of California, but his remittances were sent to order of J. Horace
Medford, and, of course, he signed his cheques the same way."
"That sounds the most likely of the lot--and the most hopeful."
"Well, haven't handed you the fifth yet, and to my mind she's the most
likely of all. Ever hear of James Lawton's trouble with his wife?"
"Trouble? I thought she died."
"She--did--not. She went East suddenly about fifteen years ago, and soon
after a notice of her death appeared in the San Francisco papers. But
there was a tale of woe (for old Lawton) that I doubt if most of her own
crowd had even a suspicion of."
"Good heavens!" Ruyler recalled the apparent intimacy of his
mother-in-law and the senior member of the respectable firm of Lawton and
Cross. If "Madame Delano" were the former Mrs. Lawton, how many things
would be explained.
"This woman's name was Marie all right, and she was French, although she
seems to have been adopted by some people named Dubois and brought up in
California. She was quite the proper thing in high society, but the
trouble was that she liked another sort better. She was a regular
fly-by-night. It began when Norton Moore, a rotten limb of one of the
grandest trees in San Francisco Society--so respectable they didn't know
there was any side to life but their own--sneaked Mrs. Lawton and three
girls out of his mother's house one night when she was givin' a ball, put
'em in a hack and took 'em down to Gabrielle's. There they spent an hour
lookin' at Gabrielle's swell bunch dressed up and doin' the grand society
act with some of the men-about-town. Then they danced some and opened a
bottle or two.
"I never heard that this little jaunt hurt the girls any, but it woke up
something in Mrs. Lawton. After that--well, there are stories without
end. Won't take up your time tellin' them. The upshot was that one night
Lawton, who took a fling himself once in a while, met her at Gabrielle's
or some other joint, and she went East a day or two after. I suppose he
didn't get a divorce, partly on account of the kid--Aileen--partly
because he had no intention of trying his luck again."
"But is there any evidence that she had another child--that she
hid away?"
"No, but it might easy have been. This life went on for about eight
years, and it was at least five that she and Lawton merely lived under
the same roof for the sake of Aileen. They never did get on. That much,
at least, was well known. It might easy be--"
Ruyler made a rapid calculation. Aileen Lawton was just about three years
older than Hélène. She was fair like her father. There was no resemblance
between her and his wife, but the intimacy between them had been
spontaneous and had never lapsed. She had grown up quite unrestrained and
spoilt, and broken three engagements, and was always rushing about
proclaiming in one breath, that California was the greatest place on
earth and in the next that she should go mad if she didn't get out and
have a change. Another grievance was that although her father let her
have her own way, or rather did not pretend to control her, he gave her a
rather niggardly allowance for her personal expenses and she was supposed
to be heavily in debt. Ruyler thought he could guess where a good deal of
his wife's spare cash had gone to. He disliked Aileen Lawton as much as
he did Polly Roberts; more, if anything, because she might have been
clever and she chose to be a fool. Both of these intimate friends of his
wife were the reverse of the superb outdoor type he admired.
"Good Lord!" he said. "I don't think there's much choice."
But in a moment he shook his head. "Too many things don't connect. Where
did she get the money to go to her relations in Rouen--"
"He pensioned her off, of course."
"And the child? How did he consent to let her return here with a daughter
he probably never had heard of--"
"I figger out, either that she came into some money from a relation over
in France, or else she has something on the old boy, and wanting to come
back here and marry her daughter, she held him up. He's a pillar of the
church, been one of the Presidents of the Pacific-Union Club, has argued
cases before the Supreme Court that have been cabled all over the
country. When a man of that sort gets to Lawton's time of life he don't
want any scandals."
"All the same," said Ruyler positively, "I don't believe it. I think it
far more likely that he was a friend of Madame Delano's husband--assuming
that she had one--and that some money was left with him in trust for her
or the child."
"Well, it may be, but I incline to Lawton--"
"There's one person would know--"
"'Gene Bisbee. But I never went to that bunch yet for any information,
and I don't go this time except as a last resort. Of course he knows, and
that is one reason I believe she is Mrs. Lawton. He was Gabrielle's
maquereau for years--when he'd wrung enough out of her he set up for
himself--Well, I ain't through yet, by a long sight. Beliefs ain't
proof." He rose slowly from the deep chair, stretched himself, and
settled his hat firmly on his head.
"What's this I hear about a wonderful ruby your wife wore up to Gwynne's
the other night? Gosh! I'd like to see a sparkler like that."
"Why, by all means."
Ruyler swung the bookcase outward, opened the safe and handed him the
ruby. Spaulding regarded it with bulging eyes, and touched it with his
finger tips much as he would a newborn babe. "Some stone!" he said, as he
handed it back, "but why in thunder don't you keep it in a safe deposit
box? There are crooks that can crack any safe, and if they got wise to
this--oh, howdy, ma'am--"
Hélène had come in and stood behind the two men.
Spaulding snatched off his hat and she acknowledged her husband's
introduction graciously. She was dressed for the evening in white. Her
eyes looked abnormally large, and she kept dropping her lids as if to
keep them from setting in a stare. Her lovely mouth with its soft curves
was faded and set. The whole face was almost as stiff as a mask, and even
her graceful body was rigid. Ruyler saw Spaulding give her a sharp
"sizing-up" look, as he murmured,
"Well, so long, Guv. See you to-morrow. Hope the man'll turn out all
right after all."
"I hope so. He's a good chap otherwise."
"Good night, ma'am. Tell your husband to put that ruby in a safe
deposit box."
"Oh, nobody knows the safe is there except Mr. Ruyler and myself--"
"There have been safes hidden behind bookcases before," said Spaulding
dryly. "And crooks, like all the other pests of the earth, just drift
naturally to this coast. If I were you I'd have a detective on hand
whenever you wear that bit o' glass--not at a friendly affair like the
Gwynnes' dinner, of course, but--"
"Good idea!" exclaimed Ruyler. "My wife will wear the ruby to the
Thornton fête on the fourteenth. Will you be on hand to guard it?"
"Won't I? About half our force is engaged for that blow-out, but no one
but yours truly shall be guardian angel for the ruby. Well, good night
once more, and good luck."
* * * * *
As soon as the detective had gone Ruyler drew his wife to him anxiously,
"What is it, Hélène? You look--well, you don't look yourself!"
"I have a headache," she said irritably. "Perhaps I'm developing nerves.
I do wish you would take me to New York. Other women get away from this
town once in a while."
"But you told me on Sunday that you adored California, that it was like
fairy land--"
"Oh, all the women out here bluff themselves and everybody else just
so long and then suddenly go to pieces. It's a wonderful state, but
what a life! What a life! Surely I was made for something better. I
don't wonder--"
"What?" he asked sharply.
"Oh, nothing. I feel ungrateful, of course. I really should be quite
happy. Think if I had to go back to Rouen to live--after this taste of
freedom, and beauty--for California has all the beauties of youth as well
as its idiocies and vices--"
"There is not the remotest danger of your ever being obliged to live in
Rouen again--"
"Oh, I don't know. You might get tired of me. We might fight like cat and
dog for want of common interests, of something to talk about. You would
never take to drink like so many of the men, but I might--well, I'm glad
dinner is ready at last."
But she played with her food. That she was repressing an intense and
mounting excitement Ruyler did not doubt, and he also suspected that she
wished to broach some particular subject from which she turned in panic.
They were alone after coffee had been served, and he said abruptly:
"What is it, Hélène? Do you want money? I have an idea that Polly Roberts
and Aileen Lawton borrow heavily from you, and that they may have cleaned
you out completely on the first--"
"How dear of you to guess--or rather to get so close. It's worse than
that. I--that is--well--poor Polly went quite mad over a pearl necklace
at Shreve's and they told her to take it and wear it for a few days,
thinking, I suppose, she would never give it up and would get the money
somehow. She--oh, it's too dreadful--she lost it--and she dares not tell
Rex--he's lost quite a lot of money lately--and she's mad with
fright--and I told her--"
"Where did she lose it? It's not easy to lose a necklace, especially when
the clasp is new."
"She thinks it was stolen from her neck at the theater--you heard what
that man said."
"Ah! What was the price of the necklace?"
"Twenty thousand dollars. The pearls weren't so very large, of course,
but Polly never had had a pearl necklace--"
"I'll let her have the money to pay for it on one condition--that it is a
transaction, between Roberts and myself--"
"No! No! Not for anything!"
"I've lent him money before--"
"But he'd never forgive Polly. He--he's one of those men who make an
awful fuss on the first of every month when his wife's bills come in."
"There must be a bass chorus on the first of every month in San
Francisco--"
"Oh, please don't jest. She must have this money."
"She may have it--on those terms. I'll have no business dealings with
women of the Polly Roberts sort. That would be the last I'd ever see of
the twenty thousand--"
"I never thought you were stingy!"
Ruyler, in spite of his tearing anxiety, laughed outright. "Is that your
idea of how the indulgent American husband becomes rich?"
"Oh--of course I wouldn't have you lose such a sum. I really have learned
the value of money in the abstract, although I can't care for it as much
as men do."
"I have no great love of money, but there is a certain difference between
a miser and a levelheaded business man--"
"Price, I must have that money. Polly--oh, I am afraid she will
kill herself!"
"Not she. A more selfish little beast never breathed. She'll squeeze the
money out of some one, never fear! But I think I'll lock up your jewels
in case you are tempted to raise money on them for her--Darling!"
Hélène, without a sound, had fainted.