"You mean she's really an informer, what they call a welcher?"
"By no means. She's just clever, that's all. The only time she ever turned on her own people was when they threw her down, threw her flat. Then she did a bit of secret service work for Wilkie's office in Washington that gave her more pull than all your Tammany 'polities' east of Broadway."
"Am I to understand that what you call politics and pull, then, will let a woman rob a man of thirty thousand dollars and go scot free?"
"My dear fellow, that type of woman never robs a man. She doesn't need to. They just blink and hand it over. Then they think of home and mother, about ten hours after."
"But that doesn't sound quite reasonable," I contended.
The older man looked solemnly at his cigar-end before asking his next question.
"Have you seen her yet?"
"No, I haven't," I replied as I rose to go. "But I intend to."
He moved his heavy shoulder in a quick half-circular forward thrust. It might have meant anything. But I did not linger to find out. I was too impressed with the need of prompt and personal action on my part to care much for the advice of outsiders.
But as each wakeful hour went by I found myself possessed of an ever widening curiosity to see this odd and interesting woman who, as Doyle expressed it, had retained reputation at the expense of character.