"How did you happen on my address?" he asked smilingly.

It was the first sh.e.l.l of real warfare, and she answered in kind: "That was quite easy. The people at the detective bureau know it."

The words. .h.i.t him like a bullet.

"The Bureau!" he cried.

"Yes. The officials there are interested in the affairs of Winifred Marchbanks."

He went ashen-gray, but essayed, nevertheless, to turn emotion into mere amazement. He was far too clever a man to pretend a blank negation. The situation was too strenuous for any species of ostrich device.

"I seem to remember that name," he said slowly, moistening his lips with his tongue.

"Of course you do. You have never forgotten it. Let us have a friendly chat about her, Senator. My son is going to marry her. That is why I am here."

She munched her sandwiches and sipped her tea. This experienced woman of the world, now boldly declared on the side of romance, was far too astute to force the man to desperation unless it was necessary. He must be given breathing-time, permitted to collect his wits. She was sure of her ground. Her case was not legally strong. Meiklejohn would discover that defect, and, indeed, it was not her object to act legally. If others could plot and scheme, she would have a finger in the pie--that was all. And behind her was the clear brain of Steingall, who had camped for days near the Senator in Atlantic City, and had advised the mother how to act for her son.

There was a long silence. She ate steadily.

"Perhaps you will be good enough to state explicitly why you are here, Mrs. Carshaw," said Meiklejohn at last.

She caught the ring of defiance in his tone. She smiled. There was to be verbal sword-play, and she was armed _cap-a-pie_.

"Just another cup of tea," she pleaded, and he wriggled uneasily in his chair. The delay was torturing him. She unrolled her big sheets of notes. He looked over at them with well-simulated indifference.

"I have an engagement--" he began, looking at his watch.

"You must put it off," she said, with sudden heat. "The most important engagement of your life is here, now, in this room, William Meiklejohn.

I mentioned the detective bureau when I entered. Which do you prefer to encounter--me or an emissary of the police?"

He paled again. Evidently this society lady had claws, and would use them if annoyed.

"I do not think that I have said anything to warrant such language to me," he murmured, striving to smile deprecatingly. He succeeded but poorly.

"You sent me to drive out into the world the girl whom my son loved,"

was the retort. "You made a grave mistake in that. I recognized her, after a little while. I knew her mother. Now, am I to go into details?"

"I--really--I--"

"Very well. Eighteen years ago your brother, Ralph Vane Meiklejohn, murdered a man named Marchbanks, who had discovered that you and your brother were defrauding his wife of funds held by your bank as her trustees. I have here the records of the crime. I do not say that your brother, who has since been a convict and is now a.s.sisting you under the name of Ralph Voles, could be charged with that crime. Maybe 'murderer'

is too strong a word for him where Marchbanks was concerned; but I do say that any clever lawyer could send you and him to the penitentiary for robbing a dead woman and her daughter, the girl whom you and he have kidnapped within the last week."

Here was a broadside with a vengeance. Meiklejohn could not have endured a keener agony were he facing a judge and jury. It was one thing to have borne this terrible secret gnawing at his vitals during long years, but it was another to find it pitilessly laid bare by a woman belonging to that very society for which he had dared so much in order to retain his footing.

He bent his head between his hands. For a few seconds thoughts of another crime danced in his surcharged brain. But Mrs. Carshaw's well-bred syllables brought him back to sanity with chill deliberateness.

"Shall I go on?" she said. "Shall I tell you of Rachel Bartlett; of the scandal to be raised about your ears, not only by this falsified trust, but by the outrageous attack on Ronald Tower?"

He raised his pallid face. He was a proud man, and resented her merciless taunts.

"Of course," he muttered, "I deny everything you have said. But, if it were true, you must have some ulterior motive in approaching me. What is it?"

"I am glad you see that. I am here to offer terms."

"Name them."

"You must place this girl, Winifred Marchbanks, under my care--where she will remain until my son marries her--and make rest.i.tution of her mother's property."

"No doubt you have a definite sum in your mind?"

"Most certainly. My lawyers tell me you ought to refund the interest as well, but Winifred may content herself with the princ.i.p.al. You must hand her half a million dollars!"

He sprang to his feet, livid. "Woman," he yelled, "you are crazy!"

CHAPTER XXVI

THE BITER BIT

Mrs. Carshaw focused him again through her gold-rimmed eye-gla.s.ses.

"Crazy?" she questioned calmly. "Not a bit of it--merely an old woman bargaining for her son. Rex would not have done it. After thrashing you he would have left you to the law, and, were the law to step in, you would surely be ruined. I, on the other hand, do not scruple to compound a felony--that is what my lawyers call it. My extravagance and carelessness have contributed to enc.u.mber Rex's estates with a heavy mortgage. If I provide his wife with a dowry which pays off the mortgage and leaves her a nice sum as pin-money, I shall have done well."

"Half a million! I--I repudiate your statements. Even if I did not, I have no such sum at command."

"Yes, you have, or will have, which is the same thing. Shall I give you details of the Costa Rica cotton concession, arranged between you, and Jacob, and Helen Tower? They're here. As for repudiation, perhaps I have hurried matters. Permit me to go through my story at some length, quoting chapter and verse."

She spread open her papers again, after having folded them.

"Stop this wretched farce," he almost screamed, for her coolness broke up his never too powerful nervous system. "If--I agree--what guarantee is there--"

"Ah! now you're talking reasonably. I can ensure the acceptance of my terms. First, where is Winifred?"

He hesitated. Here was the very verge of the gulf. Any admission implied the truth of Mrs. Carshaw's words. She did not help him. He must take the plunge without any further impulsion. But the Senator's nerve was broken. They both knew it.

"At Gateway House, East Orange," he said sullenly. "I must tell you that my--my brother is a dare-devil. Better leave me to----"

"I am glad you have told the truth," she interrupted. "She is not at Gateway House now. Rex and a detective were there last night. There was a fight. Your brother, a resourceful scoundrel evidently, carried her off. You must find him and her. A train leaves for New York in half an hour. Come back with me and help look for her. It will count toward your regeneration."

He glanced at his watch abstractedly. He even smiled in a sickly way as he said:

"You timed your visit well."

"Yes. A woman has intuition, you know. It takes the place of brains. I shall await you in the hall. Now, don't be stupid, and think of revolvers, and poisons, and things. You will end by blessing me for my interference. Will you be ready in five minutes?"

She sat in the lounge, and soon saw some baggage descending. Then Meiklejohn joined her. She went to the office and asked for a telegraph form. The Senator had followed.