“It’s not a forgery, Mr. Brankeau,” she assured him. “He was one of those gay sports, you know, and, for a change, he sported around with me, once. I came away between days. You know his failing.”
“Several of them, especially drink,” the man nodded “It’s in cash?”
“Every dollar, taken through his own banks, on his own orders.”
“And you want?”
“Railroads, and some good industrial or two. Here’s the amount––”
She handed him a neatly written note. He took out a little green covered book, showing lists of stocks, range of prices, condition of companies, and, together, they made out a list. When they had finished it, he read it into the telephone.
Within an hour the stocks had been purchased, and a week later, he handed her the certificates. She rented a safe deposit box and put them into it, subject only to her own use and purposes. 44
“Thank you, Mr. Brankeau,” she said, and turned to leave.
“Where are you stopping?” he asked.
“I’m a shanty-boater.”