"Why, blackmail her! If it is true,
she will pay you anything to keep your mouth shut. If once you can
tell a woman's secret, your future's made. All San Francisco will be
at your mercy--God knows who'll escape! After her at once, you idiot!"
"Now?" Kelson gasped.
"Yes! Now! Follow her to Calthorpe's and waylay her as she comes out.
You can refer to us as witnesses."
"I feel a bit of a blackguard," Kelson pleaded.
"You look it, anyway," Curtis grinned. "But cheer up--it's the
clothes. Clothes are responsible for everything!"
After a little persuasion Kelson gave in, but he had to make haste as
the lady was nearly out of sight. She took a taxi from the stand
opposite Kitson's hotel, and Kelson took one, too. Two hours later,
raising his hat, he accosted her as she stood tapping the pavement of
Battery Street with a daintily shod foot, waiting to cross. "Mrs.
Belton, I think," he said. The lady eyed him coldly.
"Well!" she said, "what do you want? Who are you?"
"My name can scarcely matter to you," Kelson responded, "though my
business may. I have been engaged to watch you, and am fully posted as
to your meetings and correspondence with the Rev. J.T. Calthorpe."
"I don't understand you," the lady said, her cheeks flaming. "You have
made a mistake--a very serious mistake for you."
For a moment Kelson's heart failed. He was still a clerk, with all the
humility of an office stool and shining trousers' seat thick on him,
whilst she was a _grande dame_ accustomed to the bows and scrapes of
employers as well as employed.
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