“Aynsley’s?” Valancy heard herself saying Aynsley’s! She had a box on her dressing-table with the Aynsley trademark.
“Yes. The big jewellery house there. After I’d thought it over a while, I got brisk. I wanted to locate Bernie. Had a special reason for it. It was time he gave up his fool hoboing and come to his senses. Drawing that fifteen told me there was something in the wind. The manager communicated with the Aynsleys—his wife was an Aynsley—and found out that Bernard Redfern had bought a pearl necklace there. His address was given as Box 444, Port Lawrence, Muskoka, Ont. First I thought I’d write. Then I thought I’d wait till the open season for cars and come down myself. Ain’t no hand at writing. I’ve motored from Montreal. Got to Port Lawrence yesterday. Enquired at the post-office. Told me they knew nothing of any Bernard Snaith Redfern, but there was a Barney Snaith had a P. O. box there. Lived on an island out here, they said. So here I am. And where’s Barney?”
Valancy was fingering her necklace. She was wearing fifteen thousand dollars around her neck. And she had worried lest Barney had paid fifteen dollars for it and couldn’t afford it. Suddenly she laughed in Dr. Redfern’s face.
“Excuse me. It’s so—amusing,” said poor Valancy.
“Isn’t it?” said Dr. Redfern, seeing a joke—but not exactly hers. “Now, you seem like a sensible young woman, and I dare say you’ve lots of influence over Bernie. Can’t you get him to come back to civilisation and live like other people? I’ve a house up there. Big as a castle. Furnished like a palace. I want company in it—Bernie’s wife—Bernie’s children.”
“Did Ethel Traverse ever marry?” queried Valancy irrelevantly.
“Bless you, yes. Two years after Bernie levanted. But she’s a widow now. Pretty as ever. To be frank, that was my special reason for wanting to find Bernie. I thought they’d make it up, maybe. But, of course, that’s all off now. Doesn’t matter. Bernie’s choice of a wife is good enough for me. It’s my boy I want. Think he’ll soon be back?”
“I don’t know. But I don’t think he’ll come before night. Quite late, perhaps. And perhaps not till tomorrow. But I can put you up comfortably. He’ll certainly be back tomorrow.”
Dr. Redfern shook his head.
“Too damp. I’ll take no chances with rheumatism.”