Jubilee Trail by Gwen Bristow Page B

Alhambra Gambling Palace on Park Row. She followed him there, and shot him dead.” Mr. Kimball gave a slow nod. “Now ain’t that a terrible thing?”
    “Terrible,” Oliver agreed virtuously. The little crinkles were fairly quivering now. “But you said she shot two men. Who was the other one?”
    “Name of Mallory, sir. He was another fellow happened to be gambling there that night, sort of a bum. I guess one of her shots went wild.” Mr. Kimball shook his untidy head regretfully. “Well now, after all this, would you believe it, the police let this woman get away. Yes sir, she got right out of town. She disappeared. I guess she thought she was safe.” He paused for his climax. “But guess what happened then.”
    “I can’t imagine,” Oliver said dryly.
    “Well sir, poor Mr. Selkirk had a friend. Fine gentleman named Mr. Reese. And this friend, he couldn’t stand the idea of this disgraceful woman going free. So he hired us to look her up. And finally we traced her to New Orleans. It took quite a while, New Orleans being two weeks from New York and it taking such a long time for letters to go back and forth. But we found her,” he assured them complacently. “And when we found her, here was this shameless creature, flaunting herself right out on a public stage just like she didn’t have a thing on her conscience.” He shook his head again, saddened by the thought of such depravity. “Ain’t it dreadful what a woman can do? Yes sir, sometimes I think when they’re thoroughly abandoned, they can carry on worse than us men.”
    But now that he had heard the story, Oliver was not interested in Mr. Kimball’s philosophy. As though he had just remembered Garnet, he said,
    “Thank you for your explanation, Mr. Kimball. But frankly, sir, I must ask you to withdraw. I believe my wife has heard about all she cares to.”
    “I’m sure of it,” Mr. Maury urged. “My good man, you should not have gone into those sordid details in the presence of a lady. I hope, Mrs. Hale, that you suffer no ill effects from this experience!”
    “Don’t you worry, ma’am,” Mr. Kimball said to Garnet soothingly. “We’ll get that woman before the day’s out. By night we’ll have her safe in handcuffs.”
    The word “handcuffs” ran over Garnet’s nerves like a rat. She stood up and faced her visitors.
    “Don’t worry, Mrs. Hale!” Mr. Maury begged her miserably.
    Garnet looked him over disdainfully. “I am not worried about anything,” she said with frozen composure, “except having my name on the register of a hotel that is patronized by such people. I assure you, gentlemen, that I am not used to living under the same roof with murderers and—and strumpets!”
    Mr. Maury was wringing his hands again. “But Mrs. Hale, how could I know?”
    “This is my honeymoon trip,” said Garnet. “I thought it was going to be a beautiful time that I could remember as the beginning of my life’s happiness. And here my room is broken into, I am accused of harboring a—a woman of ill repute—”
    “Mrs. Hale!” groaned Mr. Maury.
    She drew herself up. “I don’t think you knew who she was, Mr. Maury. But if you want respectable people to stay here, I certainly think you’d better be more careful.” She turned to Oliver, though she did not dare to meet his eyes lest they both start giggling. “I feel quite faint,” she murmured.
    Oliver responded nobly. He gave her his arm, and she leaned against him.
    The manager and Mr. Kimball bowed themselves away with more apologies. Oliver closed the door behind them. Turning the key, he said clearly,
    “My dearest, I can’t tell you how sorry I am that you were disturbed like this! Lie down and try to compose yourself. Would you like a glass of sherry?”
    His lips were trembling with mirth, but his voice was tender. Garnet answered plaintively.
    “Why yes, thank you, that might be refreshing. You are always so considerate of me.”
    “I’ll pour it at once,” said