"I am sure of it. We must prove it."
"Leave that to me," bursts out Joe, striding the room, puffing at his cigar.
"How will you do it?" falters the priest.
"I will find the father of the other child," Joe yells. "I am going to California. I will root up this business. I have a copy of Vimont's notes. You write me all you remember of this history. Meanwhile, not a word. No change in your game. You make foothold in that house on the Elysees.
"There was no railroad when these people came here. I will get the lists of passengers and steamer reports, I have friends in the Pacific Mail."
Joe warms up. "Yes, sir. I'll find who is responsible for that extra child. The man who is, is the party putting up for all this splendor here. I think if I can stop the money supplies, we can break their lines. I think my old 'companero,' Judge Hardin, is the head-devil of this deal.
"It's just like him.
"Now, padre, I have got something to amuse me. You do just as I tell you, and we'll checkmate this quiet game.
"We are not on the bedrock yet, but we've struck the vein. Don't you say a word to a living soul here.
"I'll have that maid watched, and tell Vimont to give you all the particulars of her cuttings-up.