Already I knew, or fancied I knew, something of the affair. For it was at the time when explosions in munitions plants had furnished many thrilling chapters of news.
All the explosions had not been confined to the plants, however. There had been and still were going on explosions less sanguinary but quite as interesting in the Maddox family itself.
There was a hundred million dollars as the apple of discord, and a most deadly feud had divided the heirs. Together they had made money so fast that one might think they would not feel even annoyance over a stray million here and there. But, as so often happens, jealousy had crept in. Sudden wealth seemed to have turned the heads of the whole family. Marshall Maddox was reported to have been making efforts to oust the others and make himself master of the big concern.
“Maddox had had some trouble with his wife, hadn’t he?” I asked, recalling scattered paragraphs lately in the papers.
Hastings nodded. “They were separated. That, too, was part of the family disagreement. His sister, Frances, took the part of his wife, Irene, I believe.”
Hastings considered a moment, as though debating how far he should go in exposing the private affairs of his client, then caught the eye of Kennedy, and seemed to realize that as long as he had called Craig into the case he must be frank, at least with us.
“At the Westport Harbor House,” he added, deliberately, “we know that there was a little Mexican dancer, Paquita. Perhaps you have heard of her on the stage and in the cabarets of New York. Marshall Maddox knew her in the city.”
He paused. Evidently he had something more to say and was considering the best way to say it.
Finally Hastings leaned over and whispered, “We know, too, that Shelby Maddox, his brother, had met Paquita at the Harbor House just before the family conference which brought them all together.”
It was evident that, at least to Hastings, there was something in the affair that looked ugly to him as far as Shelby was concerned.