"Well, she also got Garnett to make a curious sort of a will, leaving his

money to James Lawton, to 'dispose of as agreed upon.' She had a thrifty

business head, had that French dame, and she had made him buy property

when he was flush, and put it in her name, although she gave a written

agreement never to sell out as long as he lived.

"He agreed to let her go because he was dippy about another skirt at the

time, and, besides, she played on his family pride--lineal descendant of

the Delanos, Garnetts, and so forth. He'd never seen the kid after it was

taken to the convent, but I guess he liked the idea, all right, of its

being brought up wearing the old name, and gettin' rid of Marie at the

same time.

"She was too canny to leave him a loophole for divorce, even in

California; but I guess that didn't worry him much.

"If the earthquake and fire hadn't come so soon after the will was

probated there might have been a lot of speculation about it, among men,

at least. Those old gossips in the Club windows would soon have been

putting two and two together; but the calamity that burnt up all the Club

windows, just swept it clean out of their heads.

"I figger out that old Lawton continued to pay Madame Delano the income

she'd been havin' both from Jim and her properties, out of his own

pocket, until the city was rebuilt and he could settle the estate. He had

to borrow the money to rebuild the houses Jim had put up on his wife's

property, and when things got to a certain pass he wrote Madame D. to

come along and take over her property. She'll be good and rich one of

these days, when all the mortgages are paid off and Lawton paid back, but

it was wise for her to stay on the job. Lawton is dead straight, but his

partner is sowing wild oats in his old age--good old S.F. style, and I

guess it ain't wise to tempt him too far. Get me?"

"It's atrocious!"

"Oh, not nearly so bad as it might be. Just think, if it had been

Gabrielle, or Pauline-Marie, or even Mrs. Lawton. That's the worst kind

of bad blood for a woman to inherit. Marie Garnett hung on like grim

death to what the grand society you move in pretends to value most, and

the Lord knows she'll never lose it now.

"Nor need there be any scandal to drive your family to suicide. The thing

to do is to hustle Madame Delano out of San Francisco. She'll go, all

right, with you to look after her interests. She don't fancy being

recognized and blackmailed, or I miss my guess. You may have to pay

Bisbee something, but D. V.'s not that sort, and I don't think anybody

else is on. If they've suspected they'll soon forget it when the old lady

disappears from the Palace Hotel. Gee, but she has a nerve."




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