13

13

“Driscoll was her name,” said he, “and she didn’t care about her looks, she used to boast she could put a whole potato in her mouth. She was my landlady when I lived in Polk Street and she ran a laundry and had a hand in ward politics and the whole of the Irish contingent at her back. She had a better business head on her than any man in ’Frisco, and when I made some money over that trap of mine, she started me in the real estate business. We were good partners and made big money—and now she’s bolted.”

“Have you set the police after her?”

“Gosh, no,” said Hank. “What do you take me for? She’s a woman.”

“But she’s boned your money.”

“Half of it was hers, and anyhow, she’s a woman. I’m not used to kicking women and I don’t propose to learn.”

George remembered what Carolus had said about the Female Sanctity business and did not pursue the subject.

Hank smoked, his chair tilted back, his heels on the desk. Ruin seemed to sit easy on the town lot speculator. His mind seemed a thousand miles away from San Francisco and worry.

Then George broke into his reverie. “Look here,” he said, “I told you in the street I had an idea. Are you going after this man Vanderdecken or not?”

“And what if I am?” asked the cautious Hank.

“Then I’ll join you, if you’ll let me.”

14

14

“Well,” said Hank, “I told those two ginks at the Club I wasn’t. They’ve no understanding, for one thing, and for another I don’t want them to be spreading the news. But I am. For one thing I want a holiday and for another I want that twenty-five thousand dollars. Twenty, I mean, for it will take me all of five thousand dollars to catch him.”

“How much have you?”

“One thousand, about, and then I’ve got my royalties for the trap coming in.”

“That rat trap thing?”

“Yep.”

 Prev. P 11/172 next