A. Fair - Gold Comes in Bricks

“I thought it would go over swell — not in a mining journal, but in an agricultural journal.”

He looked at me for a while without saying anything, then he tamped the tobacco down into his pipe, and relaxed to the comfort of smoking.

After a while I told him I’d be on my way, that I’d come back later on perhaps and get some more information. I told him I’d pay him five dollars an evening. He said that was fair enough, and shook hands. “Any time you want to come back and visit,” he said, “it ain’t goin’ to cost you no five bucks. I like you. You fit in. It ain’t everybody I let sit down and visit. And it ain’t one person in a hundred that ever gets to sample any of this stuff.” He jerked his head in the direction of the glass on the table.

“I can understand that,” I said. “Well, so-long.”

“So-long.”

I drove back to the auto court. A big shiny sport coupé was parked in front of the cabin I’d rented. I took my key out of my pocket and opened the door. I heard the sound of motion in an adjoining cabin, and closed my door quickly. Then I heard feet on the graveled walk, light steps on the porch, and a knock on my door.

Well, this was it. I’d done the best I could.

I opened the door.

Alta Ashbury was standing on the threshold. “Hello,” she said.

I held the door open for her. “This,” I said, “isn’t a good place for you to be.”

“Why not?”

“Lots of reasons. For one thing, the detectives are looking for me.”

“Dad told me.”

“For another thing, if they should find us here, the newspapers could make a nice story of it.”

“You mean a love nest?”

“That’s right.”

“How thrilling!” she said, and then added after a moment, “It’ll be all right, in case you’re worried.”

“I am worried.”

“What about, your good name?”

“No, about yours.”

She said, “Dad’s coming up. He’ll reach here about midnight.”

“How’s he coming?”

“Plane.”

“How did you know I was in this camp?”

“I covered them all until I found you. There are only four, you know. I hit this second.”

“Why is your dad coming up?”

“Oh, things are getting hot.”

“What are the new developments?”

“Mr. Crumweather called me on the telephone and asked me to meet him at his office tomorrow afternoon at two o’clock.”

“Don’t go.”

“Why not?”

“I think he has the missing letters. I think he’s getting ready to twist the screws.”

“You mean that he had them all?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t believe this about the detectives selling out the district attorney?”

I shook my head and said, “Take a load off your feet. You’re here now, so you may as well enjoy yourself.”

“Donald, you’ve been drinking.”

“And how?”

“What’s the idea of the celebration?”

“I was having a session with a bootlegger.”

“I didn’t know they had them any more.”

“They’ve always had them. They always will.”

“Was he a nice bootlegger?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Was it good stuff?”

“Pretty fair.”

“Didn’t you bring any with you?”

“Just what I carried away inside of me.”

“It smells as though that had been a lot.” She came closer and sniffed. “Garlic, too.”

“Bother you?”

“Lord, no. I’m sore that you didn’t take me with you. I could have had a lot of fun calling on bootleggers and eating garlic. What was the garlic in?”

“Beans.”

She sat down on one of the creaking auto camp chairs. “Got a cigarette, Donald? I got excited when I heard you drive up, and dashed off without my purse.”

“Where is it?”

“Over in the other cabin.”

I handed her a cigarette. “Got any money in it?”

“Some.”

“How much?”

“Six or seven hundred. I don’t know exactly.”

“Better get it,” I said.

“Oh, it’s all right. Tell me, Donald, why did you come up here?”

“I’m trying to get some stuff on Crumweather.”

“Why?”

“So when he puts the screws on you, I can put the screws on him.”

“Think you can do it?”

“I don’t know. He’s pretty sharp.”

“This is where Bob’s company had its land, isn’t it?”

“Do you know anything about that?”

“Only a little that Bob’s told me.”

I looked at her. “I’m going to ask you a question and you may not want to answer.”

“Don’t do it, Donald. We’re getting along nicely. I hate to be questioned.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I like to be independent and live my own life. When people start asking me too many questions and make me answer, it makes me feel I have no privacy. I’ll answer them if I like the person who asks them, but I resent it afterwards. I’ve always been that way.”

“I’m going to ask it just the same.”

“What is it?”

“Have you given your stepbrother any money?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I suppose Dad wants to know.”

“I want to know.”

“Yes,” she said.

“Much?”

“No.”

“Money to put in his company?”

“No, not a cent. Just to keep him going and give him a chance to get started when Dad shut down on him.”

“How much?”

“Have I got to answer that?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I want you to.”

“I will if you make me, but I won’t like it afterwards.”

“How much?”

“About fifteen hundred dollars.”

“Over how long a time?”

“About two months.”

“When did you quit?”

“When he started working.”

“You haven’t given him any since?”

“No.”

“He wanted more after you shut down on him, didn’t he?”

“Yes. That made me mad. Understand, Donald, I don’t care too much for him. I think he’s an awful pill, but, after all, he’s been dragged into the family, and I have to make the most of him or else go out and live by myself.”

“Why don’t you do that?”

“Because of the awful mess of things Dad made.”

“You mean his second marriage?”

“Yes.”

“How did he get roped into that?”

“I’m darned if I know, Donald— Oh, it’s a hell of a thing to talk about.”

“Go ahead. You’ve started now.”

“Well, it was my fault.”

“How?”

“I went to the South Seas, and then down into Mexico, and then on a yachting trip.”

“Well?”

“Dad was alone. He’s a peculiar combination. He’s crusty and hard-boiled, and down underneath he’s a rank sentimentalist.

“He’d been very happy with Mother, and Dad and I always got along like nobody’s business. His home life had been very happy, and it meant a lot to him. After Mother’s death — she had an independent fortune you know — her will left it divided between Dad and me. I was — oh, I suppose I’ve got to tell you. I was mixed up in a love affair that had given me a lot of heartbreak. I’m over it now, but for a while I didn’t think I’d ever get over it, and Dad told me to go ahead. I packed up and skipped out. When I came back, he was married.”

“How did it happen?” I asked.

“How do those things always happen?” she said bitterly. “Look at her! I don’t want to talk about her, but I don’t have to. You’ve seen her. How could a ball and chain like that get anyone to fasten herself onto? There’s only one way.”

I stared at her. “You mean a sort of blackmail. Do you mean—”

“Of course not,” she said. “Figure it out for yourself. The woman is a consummate actress. Didn’t you ever wonder, Donald, why it is that so many women who have strong individual characters and are just dandy good fellows never get married, while some nagging, whining piece of feminine humanity usually gets a pretty good husband?”