Ruyler, who had been absorbed in his own affairs and hated the sight of
any woman during business hours, had felt like telling her that if she
wanted to sink her money in a ranch, that was as good a way to get rid of
it as any, but had merely nodded and left the elevator. He was not the
man to give any one unasked advice and be snubbed for his pains.
If "Jim" was her husband and had "croaked" some two years since, what
more natural than that she had been obliged to come to California and
settle his estate? Lawton and Cross would keep her secret, as California
lawyers, with or without blackmail, had kept many others; perhaps she was
an old friend of Lawton's. He had been a "bird" in his time.
Undoubtedly this was the solution. Otherwise she never would have risked
the return to San Francisco, even with her changed appearance.
III
It was time to dismiss speculation and proceed to action. He rang up
detective headquarters and asked Jake Spaulding to come to him at once.
Spaulding began: "But the matter ain't ripe yet, boss. Nothin' doin'
last night--"
But Ruyler cut him short. "Please come immediately--no, not here. Meet me
at Long's."
He left the building and walked rapidly to a well-known bar where
estimable citizens, even when impervious to the seductions of cocktail
and highball, often met in private soundproof rooms to discuss momentous
deals, or invoke the aid of detectives whose appearance in home or office
might cause the wary bird to fly away.
The detective did not drink, so Ruyler ordered cigars, and a few moments
later Spaulding strolled in. His physical movements always belied his
nervous keen face. He was the antithesis of 'Gene Bisbee. All honest men
compelled to have dealings with him liked and trusted him. A rich man
could confide a disgraceful predicament to his keeping without fear of
blackmail, and a poor man, if his cause were interesting, might command
his services with a nominal fee. He loved the work and regarded himself
as an artist, inasmuch as he was exercising a highly cultivated gift, not
merely pursuing a lucrative profession. He sometimes longed, it is true,
for worthier objects upon which to lavish this gift, and he found them a
few years later when the world went to war. He was one of the most
valuable men in the Federal Secret Service before the end of 1915.
"What's up?" he asked, as he took possession of the most comfortable
chair in the little room and lit a cigar. "You look as if you hadn't
slept for a week, and you were lookin' fine yesterday."