Mrs. Blakeley could not have been more astounded if a bomb had dropped before her. Still kneeling before Virginia's bed, she turned her startled face at Kennedy, clasping her hands in appeal.
"It was for my girls that I tried to buy her off—for their good name—their fortune—their future," she cried, imploringly.
Kennedy bent down, "I know that is all," he reassured, then, facing us, went on: "Behind that old woman was a secret of romantic interest. She was contemplating filing suit in the courts to recover a widow's interest in the land on which now stand the homes of millionaires, hotel palaces, luxurious apartments, and popular theaters—millions of dollars' worth of property."
Cynthia moved over and drew her arms about the convulsed figure of her mother.
"Some one else knew of this old marriage of Stuart Blakeley," proceeded
Kennedy, "knew of Reba Rinehart, knew that she might die at any moment.
But until she died none of the Blakeleys could be entirely sure of
their fortune."
It flashed over me that Chapelle might have conceived the whole scheme, seeking to gain the entire fortune for Cynthia.
"Who was interested enough to plot this postponement of the wedding until the danger to the fortune was finally removed?" I caught sight of Hampton Haynes, his eyes riveted on the face on the bed before us.
Virginia stirred again. This time her eyes opened wider. As if in a dream she caught sight of the face of her lover and smiled wanly.
Could it have been Hampton? It seemed incredible.
"The old lady is dead," pursued Kennedy, tensely. "Her dower right died with her. Nothing can be gained by bringing her case back again—except to trouble the Blakeleys in what is rightfully theirs."