“Indeed!” Loveman said softly. “Now, I wonder if you’d mind giving a little information to an ignorant man?”
Bradley’s face had suddenly become hard; his little eyes were gleaming. But though Loveman’s manner was blandly puzzled, Clifford knew the little lawyer was as alertly watchful of him as was Bradley—and was as much to be watched.
“I’ll put all my cards on the table, Loveman,” he said with deliberation. “I’ll tell you exactly what I know—which is also exactly what you know. There’s nothing at all extraordinary about it; it’s just the sort of thing that with a few variations you’re doing over and over.”
“Oh, I say, am I really so monotonous!” protested Loveman.
“You said you were going to put your cards on the table,” cut in Bradley. “Come on, let’s see your two-spots.”
“We’ll go back a bit, Loveman,” said Clifford. “Morton, senior, had entrusted you with the legal end of some of his New York affairs; and when Jack Morton came to New York, and began to get himself tangled up through having too much money, the father put it up to you to extricate his son. Good profit in handling such affairs, Loveman: nice fee for legal services rendered; a private split of the sums for which the matters were settled; and an unobtrusive arrangement whereby the son could be drawn into further profitable predicaments. A big-paying business, Loveman.”
“Go on,” said the little lawyer pleasantly.
“Three or four months ago the father descended upon New York in a fury. He declared he was through settling for Jack’s troubles. He was going to send Jack somewhere far away from New York—and Jack had to take a brace, or the father would drop him. Also there was a marriage with a rich girl that the father wanted to put across—and there’d be nothing doing unless Jack straightened up. So Jack simply had to be braced up. Right there, Loveman, was where you saw yourself losing a big piece of your income. But you did some quick thinking, and you fell in with the father’s idea that Jack should be sent into retirement to reform. In fact, you knew the very place, Pine Mountain Lodge. And on your suggestion Jack was sent there.”
“And if I did mention Pine Mountain Lodge, what of that?” Loveman mildly inquired.
“You knew Mary Regan was there, and knew she was the only attractive woman staying at the hotel. And you knew that Jack Morton fell for about every pretty woman that he met. Thrown together in that isolation, you hadn’t a doubt of what he would do. It was only a chance—but it was your only chance; and if it worked out the way you thought it might, there would be rich possibilities in the situation for you—without your seeming to have been mixed in the affair. Well, it worked out just as you thought it might—and the possibilities lie ready to your hand.”