The woman handed him a card.
“Doctor Muir took him to his private hospital,” she said. “I loaned them my car because it’s a limousine. The address is on that card. But,” she added, “both your brother and Sammy—that’s Sam Muir, the doctor—asked you wouldn’t use the telephone; they’re afraid of a leak.”
Apparently Wharton did not hear her. As though it were “Exhibit A,” presented in evidence by the defense, he was studying the card she had given him. He stuck it in his pocket.
“I’ll go to him at once,” he said.
To restrain or dissuade him, the woman made no sudden move. In level tones she said:
“Your brother-in-law asked especially that you wouldn’t do that until you’d fixed it with the girl. Your face is too well known. He’s afraid some one might find out where he is—and for a day or two no one must know that.”
“This doctor knows it,” retorted Wharton.
The suggestion seemed to strike Mrs. Earle as humorous. For the first time she laughed. “Sammy!” she exclaimed. “He’s a lobbygow of mine. He’s worked for me for years. I could send him up the river if I liked. He knows it.” Her tone was convincing. “They both asked,” she continued evenly, “you should keep off until the girl is out of the country, and fixed.” Wharton frowned thoughtfully.
And, observing this, the eyes of the woman showed that, so far, toward the unfortunate incident the attitude of the district attorney was to her most gratifying. Wharton ceased frowning. “How fixed?” he asked. Mrs. Earle shrugged her shoulders.
“Cutler’s idea is money,” she said; “but, believe me, he’s wrong. This girl is a vampire. She’ll only come back to you for more. She’ll keep on threatening to tell the wife, to tell the papers. The way to fix her is to throw a scare into her. And there’s only one man can do that; there’s only one man that can hush this thing up—that’s you.”