The Avalanche: A Mystery Story Part 11
"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 Helene. 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 n.i.g.g.ardly 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--a.s.suming 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--"
Helene had come in and stood behind the two men.
Spaulding s.n.a.t.c.hed 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, n.o.body 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' gla.s.s--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 fete 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, Helene? 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, Helene? 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 ba.s.s chorus on the first of every month in San Francisco--"
"Oh, please don't jest. She must have this money."