and business-like; she had come from her uncle to "regard" the papers in
the "Red-Rock Rancho" case. They were instantly produced. Carmen turned
to the application for the grant. Her cheek paled slightly. With her
clear memory and wonderful fidelity of perception she could not be
mistaken. THE SIGNATURE OF MICHELTORENA WAS IN HER OWN HANDWRITING!
Yet she looked up to the lawyer with a smile: "May I take these papers
for an hour to my uncle?"
Even an older and better man than the District Attorney could not have
resisted those drooping lids and that gentle voice.
"Certainly."
"I will return them in an hour."
She was as good as her word, and within the hour dropped the papers and
a little courtesy to her uncle's legal advocate, and that night took the
steamer to San Francisco.
The next morning Victor Garcia, a little the worse for the previous
night's dissipation, reeled into Wood's office. "I have fears for my
niece Carmen. She is with the enemy," he said thickly. "Look you at
this."
It was an anonymous letter (in Mrs. Plodgitt's own awkward fist)
advising him of the fact that his niece was bought by the enemy, and
cautioning him against her.
"Impossible," said the lawyer; "it was only last week she sent thee
$50."
Victor blushed, even through his ensanguined cheeks, and made an
impatient gesture with his hand.
"Besides," added the lawyer coolly, "she has been here to examine the
papers at thy request, and returned them of yesterday."
Victor gasped: "And-you-you-gave them to her?"
"Of course!"
"All? Even the application and the signature?"
"Certainly,--you sent her."
"Sent her? The devil's own daughter?" shrieked Garcia. "No! A hundred
million times, no! Quick, before it is too late. Give to me the papers."
Mr. Wood reproduced the file. Garcia ran over it with trembling fingers
until at last he clutched the fateful document. Not content with opening
it and glancing at its text and signature, he took it to the window.
"It is the same," he muttered with a sigh of relief.
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