“I don’t need to make accusation or present proof to you, madam.”
“You’re not trying to insinuate——”
Many lights had Pape seen in women’s eyes, but never one as startled, angry and afraid as that flashed him by Aunt Helene. Next moment she attempted a light laugh that ended with a nervous crescendo.
“You, too, must be mad.”
“At least that,” he admitted cheerfully. “You’ve known why for several minutes past. You acknowledge the judge here as your advisor, don’t you?”
“I certainly do.”
“Better ask his advice, then, without further delay. I’ve an idea he’ll tell you to come across clean—admit that you are The Guarantee Investors, Incorporated, who have been trying to grab off the Lauderdales’ Bronx ranch and put Jane here out of the heiress class. Come, madam! Any woman who can rob her own safe and give the alarm and play-act the grief of a whole wake afterwards certainly ought to get a great deal out of a confession scene. Suppose you take your family-friend tool and your in-law-to-be into the library for a conference. Just possibly I—the outlaw-that-was—can show Mr. and Miss Lauderdale reasons why they should listen to a plea for mercy.”
Before Pape had finished, the small jurist was on his feet in acceptance of the suggestion. The wilt of guilt drooped the matron into the arms of her child. As one woman they were supported toward the door by Mills Harford.
“It was all my poor husband’s idea, not my own,” Aunt Helene was heard to defend to an interlude of sobs. “And with him, as with me, it was all because we did so want our poor Irene to have the fortune her beauty deserves. We knew how impractical the Lauderdales were. He didn’t believe they ever could make good their claim to the Bronx estate. We both thought it would be better for our own dear child to have it than some outsider. When he realized that he couldn’t live to see the plan through he charged me to carry it out. Of course I meant to make proper provision for Jane if——”
The door closed behind them.