She wanted to leave the rat-holed money for him. Or half of it, at least. But she knew it was useless. It would either be stolen from him, or he would throw it away. He was beyond help-her help, in any event- and anything she might do would only prolong his agony.
What had happened to him, she didn't know. Deliberately, she had tried to avoid knowing. But she hoped that he was dead. It was the best she could hope for the man she had loved so much.
11
Moira took a long sip of her third bourbon sidecar. Feeling just a little skittish (she had a horror of actual drunkenness), she grinned at the man who was approaching her table.
His name was Grable, Charles Grable, and he was the manager of the apartment house. Dressed in striped trousers and a black broadcloth morning coat, he had rather close-set eyes and a plump, peevishlooking face. His attempt to look stern, as he sat down, gave his small mouth a baby-like pout.
'Don't tell me, now,' Moira said, solemnly. 'You're Addison Simms of Seattle, and we had lunch together in the fall of 1902.'
'What? What are you talking about?' Grable snapped. 'Now, you listen to me, Moira! I-'
'How is your wiry zone?' Moira said. 'Are hidden germs lurking in your nooks and crannies?'
'Moira!' He leaned forward angrily, dropping his voice. 'I'm telling you for the last time, Moira. I want your bill settled today! Every last penny of it, your rent and all the other charges you've run up! You either pay it, or I'm locking you out of your apartment!'
'Now, Charles. Don't I always pay my bills? Aren't they always settled… one way or another?'
Grable flushed, and looked over his shoulder. A half-pleading, half-whining note came into his voice.
'I can't do that any more, Moira. I simply can't! People staying over their leases, coming in ahead of their lease-dates-paying money that I don't show on the books! I-I-'
'I understand.' Moira gave him a sad, sultry look. 'You just don't like me any more.'
'No, no that's not it at all! I-'
'You don't either,' she pouted. 'If you did, you wouldn't act this way.'
'I told you I couldn't help it! I-I-' He saw the lurking mockery in her eyes. 'All right!' he snarled. 'Laugh at me, but you're not making a thief out of me any longer. You're nothing but a cheap little- little-'
'Cheap, Charles? Now, I didn't think I was at all cheap.'
'I'm through talking,' he said firmly. 'Either you settle up by five o'clock tonight or out you go, and I'll hold on to every thing you own!'
He stamped away with a kind of furtive indignation.
Moira shrugged indifferently, and picked up her drink. He's a secret sufferer, she told herself.
She signaled for her check, penciled on a dollar tip for the waiter. As he nodded gracefully, pulling back her chair, she told him that he, too, could learn to dance.
'All you need is the magic step,' she said. 'It's as simple as one-two-three.'
He laughed politely. Cloud-nine kidding was old stuff in a place like this. 'Like some coffee before you leave, Mrs. Langtry?'
'Thank you, no,' Moira smiled. 'The drinks were very good, Allen.'
She left the lounge, and passed back through the lobby. Recovering her car, she headed toward the downtown business district.
All things considered, she had lived quite economically since her arrival in Los Angeles. Economically, that is, insofar as her own money was concerned. Of the boodle with which she had skipped St. Louis, she still had several thousand dollars, plus, of course, such readily negotiable items as her car, jewelry, and furs. But lately, she had had an increasingly strong hunch that her life here was drawing to a close, and that it was time to cash in wherever and whatever she could.
She hated to leave the city; particularly hated the idea that it would mean giving up Roy Dillon. But it didn't necessarily have to mean that, and if it did, well, it just couldn't be helped. Hunches were to be heeded. You did what you had to do.
Arriving downtown, she parked the car on a privately-operated lot. It was owned by a better-class jewelry store, one which she had patronized both as a buyer and seller, though largely the last. The doorman touched his cap and swung open the plate-glass doors for her, and one of the junior executives came forward, smiling.
'Mrs. Langtry, how nice to see you again! Now, how can we serve you today?'
Moira told him. He nodded gravely, and led her back to a small private office. Closing the door, he seated her at the desk and sat down opposite her.
Moira took a bracelet from her purse, and handed it to him. His eyes widened appreciatively.
'Beautiful,' he murmured, reaching for a loupe. 'A wonderful piece of workmanship. Now, let's just see…'
Moira watched him, as he snapped on a gooseneck lamp, and turned the bracelet in his clean, strong hands. He had waited on her several times before. He wasn't handsome; almost homely, in fact. But she liked him, and she knew that he was strongly attracted to her.
He let the loupe drop from his eye, shook his head with genuine regret.
'I can't understand a thing like this,' he said. 'It's something you almost never see.'
'How… what do you mean?' Moira frowned.
'I mean this is some of the finest filigreed platinum I've ever seen. Practically a work of art. But the stones, no. They're not diamonds, Mrs. Langtry. Excellent imitations, but still imitations.'
Moira couldn't believe him. Cole had paid four thousand dollars for the bracelet.
'But they must be diamonds! They cut glass!'
'Mrs. Langtry,' he smiled wryly, 'glass will cut glass. Practically anything will. Let me show you a positive test for diamonds.'
He handed her the loupe, and took an eyedropper from his desk. Carefully, he dropped a miniscule amount of water on the stones.
'Do you see how the water splashes over them, slides off in a sheet? With real diamonds it won't do that. It clings to the surface in tiny droplets.'
Moira nodded dully, and took the loupe from her eye.
'Do you happen to know where it was purchased, Mrs. Langtry? I'm sure your money could be recovered.'
She didn't know. Quite possibly Cole had bought it as a fake. 'It isn't worth anything to you?'
'Why, of course it is,' he said warmly. 'I can offer you-well, five hundred dollars?'
'Very well. If you'll give me a check, please.'
He excused himself, and left for several minutes. He returned with the check, placed it in an envelope for her and sat down again.
'Now,' he said, 'I hope you're not too badly disappointed with us. You'll give us an opportunity to serve you again, I hope.'
Moira hesitated. She glanced at the small sign on his desk.
'I should have told you, Mrs. Langtry. With a valued customer, such as you, we'd be very happy to call at your home. It's not at all necessary for you to come to the store. If there's anything you think we might be
