“Our whole future hangs on your adroitness. You must find out what goes on between them. In a hotel you have a far better chance than in either of her two homes.”
Vreeland murmured that in her ears which made the vicious woman’s cheeks redden.
“Bah! all we women are alike,” she sneered. “But if she slyly sends me out?” There was a gloomy pause.
“I do not think that she suspects you,” finally answered Vreeland. “Telegraph me here what you dare to.
“And bring me all the other news in person. Now, tell me all you know of this very saintly young Mary Kelly.”
His voice had the ring of anxiety. “I have had the janitor and the letter-carrier watch her. They are both friends of mine,” modestly murmured Justine.
“She lives near us, on a side street, with her old mother. And never goes out with a man, except Officer Daly. Daly, the Roundsman. A beau garçon, too; but it may be only a flirtation Catholique à l’Irelandaise.
“I have often followed her myself to church. And she comes once a week to Madame. They always look over papers together.”
“And that smug devil Bagley,” cried Vreeland, “only comes to the door, leaves me the pacquet of bills, and does not even see Madame. He gets an order for the money, and then returns later with the receipted bills.”
Justine was back at the Circassia before Vreeland left her rooms to engage in his little joust at poker with Mr. James Potter, whose morning diet of red pepper, cracked ice, and soda water had at last brought him up to the normal, after several sporadic cocktails.