'Matthew, I need your help,'said William, as he put Alaes letter back into i Ls envelope.
Tou've had a letter from my sister and she thinks you'll do as a temporary replacement for Rudolf Valentino.'
William stood up. 'Quit kidding, Matthew. If your father's bank was being robbed, would you sit around making jokes about it?'
The expression on William's face was unmistakably serious. Matthew's tone changed. 'No, I wouldn't.'
'Right, then lees get out of here, and I'll explain everything.'
Anne left Beacon Hill a little after ten to do some shopping before going on to her final meeting with Glen Ricardo. The telephone started to ring as she disappeared down Chestnut Street. The maid answered it, looked out the window 'and decided that her mistress was too far away to be pursued.
If Anne had returned to take the call she would have been informed of City Hall's decision on the hospital contract, whereas instead she selected some silk stockings and tried out a new perfume. She arrived at Glen Ricardes office a little after twelve, hoping her new perfume might counter the smell of cigar smoke.
'I hope I'm not late, Mr. Ricardo,' she began briskly.
%lave a seat, Mrs. Osborne.' Ricardo did not look particularly cheerful, but, thought Anne to herself, he never does. Then she noticed that he was not smoking his usual cigar.
Glen Ricardo opened a smart brown file, the only new thing Anne could see in the office, and unclipped some papers - 'Let's start with the anonymous letters, shall we, Mrs. Osborne?'
Anne did not like the tone of his voice at all or the word start. 'Yes, all right,' she managed to get out.
'ney are being sent by a Mrs. Ruby Flowers!
'Who? Why?' said Anne, impatient for an answer she did not want to hear.
'I suspect one of the reasons must be that Mrs - Flowers is at present suing your husband!
'Well, that explains the whole mystery,' said Anne. 'She must want revenge.
How much does she claim Henry owes her?'
'She is not suggesting debt, Mrs. Osborne!
'Well, what is she suggesting thenT Glen Ricardo pushed himself up from the chair, as if the movement required the full strength of both his arms to raise his tired frame. He walked to the window and looked out over the crowded Boston harbour.
'She is suing for a breach of promise, Mrs. Osborne!
'Oh, no~' said Anne.
'It appears that they were engaged to be married at the time that Mr.
Osborne met you, when the engagement was suddenly terminated for no apparent reason!
'Gold digger; she must have wanted Henry's money.'
'No, I don't think so. You see, Mrs. Flowers is already well off. Not in your class, of course, but well off all the same. Her late husband owned a soft drink bottling company, and had left her financially secure!
'Her late husband - how old is she?'
The detective walked back to the table and flicked over a page or two of his file before his thumb started moving down the page. The black nail came to a halt.
'She'll be fifty - three on her next birthday!
'Oh, my God,' said Anne. 'The poor wo - man. She must hate me!
'I daxe say she does, Mrs. Osborne, but that will not help us. Now I must turn to your husband's other activities!
Tle nicodne - stained finger turned over some more pages.
Anne began to feel sick. Why had she come, why hadn't she left well alone last week? She didn't have to know. She didn't want to know. Why didn't she get up and walk away? How she wished Richard was by her side. He would have known exactly how to deal with the whole situation. She found herself unable to move, transfixed by Glen Ricardo and the contents of his smart new file.
'On two occasions last week Mr. Osborne spent over three hours alone with Mrs. Preston!
'But that doesn't prove anything,' began Anne desperately, 'I know they were discussing a very important financial document.'
'In a small hotel on La Salle Street.'
Anne didn't interrupt the detective again.
'On both occasions they were seen walking into the hotel holding hands, whispering and laughing. It's not conclusive of course, but we have photographs of them together entering and ieaving the hotel.'
'Destroy them,' said Anne quietly.
Glen Ricardo blinked. 'As you wish, Mrs. Osborne. I'm afraid there is more. Further enquiries show that Mr. Oshome was never at Harvard nor was he an officer in the American armed forces. There was a Henry Osborne at Harvard who was five - foot - five, sandy - haired and came from Alabama. He was killed on the Maine in 1917. We also know that your husband is considerably younger than he claims to be and that his real name is Vittorio Togna, and he has served - - 2 'I don't want to hear any more,' said Anne, tears flooding down her checks. 'I don't want to hear any more.'