"Not a one. He doesn't believe in them. He says they'd limit his complete freedom."
"No chauffeur, even?"
"Oh, no. He drives himself around in an old jalopy. He wears an old brown hat."
"I could be the gas man."
"Where would that get you?"
"Nowhere," he admitted. He drummed his fingers on the table.
"Fran," she said, "remember, I'm in there, after all."
"You lie low, Auntie Jane." He smiled. The absurdity of their relationship amused him once more. His father's baby sister, Jane was. His cute little Aunt Jane. "You keep your little old nose out of this. In fact, maybe you'd better not go back at all."
"Oh, don't worry. He thinks I'm a dumb blonde."
"Lots of people do, and they're so wrong," said Francis. "How am I going to get in there? Couldn't I pretend to be some famous character?"
"I doubt if you could hoax him. He's such a shrewd old—"
"Never mind. Would it be possible for you to lure Althea out to meet me?"
"Althea thinks the sun rises and sets with her Grandy," Jane warned him
"How about this Oliver? What kind of guy is he?"
Jane wrinkled her nose. "Oh, he's all right. He's pleasant. He's the kind of man who understands women's hats."
"Lord."
"Of course, he thinks Grandy s practically God. They all do "
"Maybe Grandy does," said Francis grimly.
They both drank some coffee. He tried again. "Could I hire myself out to that lawyer, get into his office?"
"I don't know, Fran, I don't think you'd find anything. Surely he wouldn't let there be records."
Francis shook his head. "How did Rosaleen find out?"
Jane looked blank.
"Instinct tells me I've got to get to know Althea," he insisted.
"But, Fran, how could I lure her out? What could I say? 'Come and meet somebody who thinks your guardian is a stinker'? And if you hinted anything like that, shed go straight back to Grandy—"
"Then you mustn't have anything to do with my meeting her," said Francis promptly. "I see. And yet I've got to get at her."
"You watch out for Althea. She's got silver eyes."
"Do you think," said Francis, and suddenly he looked very old, "that any woman, with or without silver eyes, is going to bother me?"
Jane drank some more coffee. Francis was looking down. She hated the drawn line of his cheek, the too-thin look of him. This wasn't the Francis she loved, who was sure of things, the one all other girls immediately assumed to be mysterious and exciting. He
wasn't mysterious to her, not even now. She was his little old Aunt Jane, and she knew what ailed him was only sorrow, and that bitter anger he was holding leashed and ready. And God knew what he'd been through in the war, besides.
But Fran, bitter and old, missing that something wild and nimble in his spirit, that quicksilver quality. She thought, outraged, He's only twenty-five. She babbled out loud, unhappily, "I'm not belittling your fatal charm, darling. But it's not a good moment to es-
tablish yourself as Althea's boy friend."
"Let it go," said Francis irritably. Then, in a minute, he lifted his head. "Suppose I were Mathilda's boy friend?"
Jane felt a little shock. "They say—I mean, there wasn't anyone but Oliver.”
"They're so wrong," said Francis softly. He kept his head up. She saw his nostrils quiver. "How old was Mathilda?"
"Twenty-two."
"That's fine. I think I'll be Mathilda's boy friend, all upset because she's drowned."
"But Fran-"
"When did she sail on this fatal ship?"
"In January."
"From New York? Alone?"
"Uh-huh."
"Then she met me in New York. I'm a new boy friend."
"But, Fran, she went off with a broken heart. You can't pretend—"
He wasn't listening. He went ahead. "Was she here in the city long before she sailed? How long, Jane?"
"Three days."
"All that time?" said Francis, in a pleased way. "And she was alone?"
"She was alone. Don't you see, it must have been that she ran away from the situation. There was that newly married pair moving in. Althea'd copped off her man. It must have been a hideous blow."
He didn't say anything. Jane, watching him, suddenly remembered the time he'd gone out and bet his allowance on a horse race, and won enough to buy his mother a wildly extravagant bracelet for Christmas. He had just that crazy gleam, that funny high-sailing
look, as if now he wasn't going to bother to use the ground. He was going to take to the air. His spurning look. He'd get these reckless streaks, as if something in his will, or something mysteriously lucky, or some fantastic kind of foresight, would signal to him. He'd scare everybody to death. Then it would come out all right. This was the old Fran, the one she loved, with that leaping look.
"By gum, why didn't I marry the girl?" he asked, as if this were a reasonable question.
Her heart turned over. "Marry what girl?"
"Mathilda. Obviously, I married Mathilda."
"No! Fran!"
"Now, wait. Think about it. Be logical."
"Logical!" said Jane. "Oh, gosh! Logical!" She hung on to the table. "Now, just a min—"
"But that does it! She's the one with the money. See here, Jane, sooner or later won't they have to presume she's not coming back from her watery grave? Ah-ha, but when she married me, you know, she technically got control of her own money. So I'm the guy that'll be right there, asking bright, intelligent questions, when the books are opened."
Jane stuttered, "She w-willed it to Grandy."
"Never mind " He brushed her off. “I'll fix that. I'm an interested party. That's enough. That'll do it And besides—look, honey. I go up there. Most natural thing in the world. My God, my bride! I'm all upset. I want to be with her nearest and dearest. Don't I? So I talk about her. So I talk. I talk to everybody. I talk to Althea. I'm a tragic figure. Althea's going to be powerful sorry for me" His eyebrows flew up. He looked full of the devil.
"But, Fran-"
"Don't say 'But, Fran.' Ask questions. Be helpful."
"No, no. Listen." Jane struck the table with her fist. "Don't underrate that man! Don't dare! Please don't try anything half-baked. He's too smart, too terribly smart! This isn't any parlor game. You can't just go and tell a plain lie and expect him to swallow it. You said it yourself. Assume he's guilty. Then he's bound to check. He'll be very wary."
"Let him check," said Francis coldly. "Let him be wary."
Jane closed her eyes. She heard bis voice go on, now quick and excited.
"What you do is, you go back. Send me her handwriting. All you can find. Steal it. Send me pictures of her. Good ones.”
"But, Fran-"
"Got to have them. Think about it."
"There's a roll," said Jane slowly, as if he had hypnotized her, "that Althea had in her camera. She had them developed last week and they all cried over the ones with Mathilda."
“Those are the ones I want."
"But, Fran-"
“Don't 'but.'"
“Fran, you're crazy!" She opened her eyes.
"Am I?" said Francis quietly. "O.K. The point is, I intend to get in there and find out what happened to Rosaleen. Because if anybody hurt her, he will get hurt. I don't mind what methods I use, or what trouble I take, or what lies I tell, or bribes I have to pay. If this is the way you get in and find out, then this is the way I go. You can't stop me. I don't think you want to, really. You might as well help, don't you think?"