Apparently Wharton did not hear her. As though it were “Exhibit A,”
presented in evidence by the defense, he was studying the card she had
given him. He stuck it in his pocket.
“I’ll go to him at once,” he said.
To restrain or dissuade him, the woman made no sudden move. In level
tones she said:
“Your brother-in-law asked especially that you wouldn’t do that until
you’d fixed it with the girl. Your face is too well known. He’s afraid
some one might find out where he is--and for a day or two no one must
know that.”
“This doctor knows it,” retorted Wharton.
The suggestion seemed to strike Mrs. Earle as humorous. For the first
time she laughed. “Sammy!” she exclaimed. “He’s a lobbygow of mine. He’s
worked for me for years. I could send him up the river if I liked. He
knows it.” Her tone was convincing. “They both asked,” she continued
evenly, “you should keep off until the girl is out of the country, and
fixed.” Wharton frowned thoughtfully.
And, observing this, the eyes of the woman showed that, so far, toward
the unfortunate incident the attitude of the district attorney was to
her most gratifying. Wharton ceased frowning. “How fixed?” he asked.
Mrs. Earle shrugged her shoulders.
“Cutler’s idea is money,” she said; “but, believe me, he’s wrong. This
girl is a vampire. She’ll only come back to you for more. She’ll keep on
threatening to tell the wife, to tell the papers. The way to fix her is
to throw a scare into her. And there’s only one man can do that; there’s
only one man that can hush this thing up--that’s you.”
“When can I see her?” asked Wharton.
“Now,” said the woman. “I’ll bring her.” Wharton could not suppress an
involuntary “Here?” he exclaimed.
For the shade of a second Mrs. Earle exhibited the slightest evidence of
embarrassment.
“My room’s in a mess,” she explained; “and she’s not hurt so much as
Sammy said. He told her she was in bad just to keep her quiet until you
got here.”
Mrs. Earle opened one of the doors leading from the room. “I won’t be a
minute,” she said. Quietly she closed the door behind her.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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