“But what on earth does the lady gain by it? Suarez and you will take mighty good care she doesn’t get away with my ranch and money. Does she want my name?”
“Perhaps.”
Maseden took thought a moment.
“It has never been dishonored during my life,” he said quietly. “I would need to be assured that it will not be smirched after my death.”
Steinbaum was stout. A certain anxiety to succeed in an extraordinary mission, joined to the warm, moist atmosphere of the cell, had induced a copious perspiration.
“Ach, Gott!” he purred despairingly. “I know nothing. She told me nothing. She offered to pay me for the trouble—”
“Ah!”
“Why not? I run some risk in acting so. She is American, like yourself. She came to me—”
“American, you say! Is she young?”