“Oh, yes; and Fred and Ken Scofield were informing their father’s wife that, after cutting off the old man with an allowance, they were also going to let his insurance lapse. Now, about that time, a queer thing was happening with that young wife--queer if you keep on staring at just what you see from Astor Street. Christina got a hankering for decency.” “You mean she liked Win Scofield?” “She liked being his wife--if only for the novelty. The old man, for himself, was nothing to her. She was crazy about Keeban.” “Yet married Win Scofield.” “‘My friend’ told her to. Probably he was coming to one of the times when he was getting tired of her, anyway; he took her up, off and on; off times, he picked up with other girls. So, till he wanted her again, he thought he’d park her with the Scofield family and let her gather half a million for him.” “What did she think when she first saw you?” “Oh, she knew about me, sure enough. Part of ‘my friend’s’ plan in planting her in society must have been to help his scheme with me; she was his inside wire on that job and went through with her end so smoothly that no one suspected, no one even mentioned her; she wasn’t even “Among those present” printed in the paper after the Sparling affair. Undoubtedly she’d have gone right through with the arrangement rigged on old Win, if ‘my friend’ had stuck to original prospectus; but Fred and Ken didn’t make that possible. And ‘my friend’, from his point of view, was left with no other course than to croak old Win. If he was to maintain any sort of discipline, he simply had to do it.” “Discipline of whom? Shirley?” “For one, among others. My brother,” said Jerry, avoiding his previous euphemism of “friend” and speaking with a queer timbre of pride, “had a leadership to maintain and improve, a certain record of success to conserve. A man in his position must, above every one else, save his face; he can let no one smile at him. Here he had let his girl go to old Win Scofield to make him some money and Win’s sons had made it impossible, unless somebody croaked Win; so Win had to be croaked; not merely for the money, but to save ‘my friend’s’ face. “Now Shirley, on the square, tried to stop that; from the time I spoke to you, she was never against you. It’s right for her to have the insurance money that’s paid; she was not in the scheme of the croaking; nobody can ever show she was.” “She accused you to me,” I said. Jerry nodded. “I’ve seen the papers. You’ll see something else to-night. Win Scofield’s widow has her money; and Harry Vine, my friend and yours, Steve--Keeban, we called him--he’s saving his face. At the Flamingo Feather, the affair will be.” “Flamingo Feather?”