Bill.
Caruth’s hands dropped, and he looked up. His cheeks were white. So this was the explanation? The girl’s quest was for gold. The letter she sought contained, not the names of revolutionists, as he had inferred, but information as to the whereabouts of gold that seemed already to have cost many men their lives. It all seemed very sordid to Caruth. He had never earned or lacked a penny in his life, and to struggle for mere money seemed to him little short of disgraceful. It speaks volumes for the impression Marie Fitzhugh had made upon him that it never even occurred to him to misdoubt her interest in the matter, or to question whether she might not be a mere adventuress, the tool of private thieves rather than the agent of public conspirators. Perhaps, after all, this was because he was tenacious of his beliefs, and, once having formed them, did not readily change.
One thing, however, stood out in his consciousness: He must discover her whereabouts and tell her that her letter had been found. He had no qualms in regard to Wilkins. The man had forced his confidence upon him, and he was under no obligation to preserve it. Miss Fitzhugh owned the letter. She had bought it from its owner and had paid for it, and was entitled to know its contents. His part was to find out if she still wanted it, and to make sure that the man who held it would be available if she did.
He turned to Wilkins, who had waited patiently for him to speak. “I can’t help you off-hand,” he declared, “but perhaps I may be able to do so later. Perhaps I can trace that letter. I don’t know whether I can or not, but I will try. Certainly I can learn something about the wreck of the Orkney, and that ought to help. Your brother’s room is vacant. Suppose you occupy it to-night, and meanwhile I will see what I can learn. And if I were you, I should keep that letter to myself.”
The man’s lips curled contemptuously. “Don’t you worry about me none!” he responded grimly. “I ain’t takin’ no chances. I’ve had time to arrange things. Do you know what would eventuate if I didn’t show up for such and such a time? Well, I’ll tell you. Copies of this here letter would go to half a dozen newspapers mucho pronto. An’ I judge that would queer the game some for the folks that did for Jim.”
It was this interview that had caused Caruth to consult Bristow and to tell that clever newspaper man a great deal more than he had dreamed of doing when he began, though, for some reason not entirely intelligible to himself, he did not touch on the arrival of the Westerner. It was the interview, too, that led him to the presence of his charmer.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE WOMEN’S HOTEL of New York is sacred to the unattended woman. The clerks and the cooks are women; women wait on the tables; and women convey characteristically feminine trunks to virgin apartments. No man, attended or unattended, may spread his name upon its register, or settle himself within its sacrosanct precincts. Scarcely may he win permission to wait in a parlor while a feminine bell-hop carries his card to the arcana above.
In this parlor Caruth awaited an answer to his call. Fearing that a card alone might meet denial, he had inscribed it with the words “On most important business” before he sent it up.
He had the parlor to himself, and carefully he chose a position, partly screened by flowering plants, where he might hope to talk unheard and undisturbed by any one who might enter. What he had to say was not too pleasant, and he wanted no chance eavesdroppers.