“When did she die?”
“Three or four weeks ago.”
“What was her name?” asked Pinky.
Mrs. Bray closed her lips tightly and shook her head.
“Can't betray thatt secret,” she replied.
“Oh, just as you like;” and Pinky gave her head an impatient toss. “High sense of honor! Respect for the memory of a departed friend! But it won't go down with me, Fan. We know each other too well. As for the baby—a pretty big one now, by the way, and as handsome a boy as you'll find in all this city—he's worth something to somebody, and I'm on that somebody's track. There's mother as well as a grandmother in the case, Fan.”
Mrs. Bray's eyes flashed, and her face grew red with an excitement she could not hold back. Pinky watched her keenly.
“There's somebody in this town to-day who would give thousands to get him,” she added, still keeping her eyes on her companion. “And as I was saying, I'm on that somebody's track. You thought no one but you and Sal Long knew anything, and that when she died you had the secret all to yourself. But Sal didn't keep mum about it.”
“Did she tell you anything?” demanded Mrs. Bray, thrown off her guard by Pinky's last assertion.
“Enough for me to put this and that together and make it nearly all out,” answered Pinky, with great coolness. “I was close after the game when I got caught myself. But I'm on the track once more, and don't mean to be thrown off. A link or two in the chain of evidence touching the parentage of this child, and I am all right. You have these missing links, and can furnish them if you will. If not, I am bound to find them. You know me, Fan. If I once set my heart on doing a thing, heaven and earth can't stop me.”