"'No,' said I, 'we must show this to Judge O'Day, otherwise I shall decline to attach my signature.' With this he snatched the paper from my hand in the rudest kind of a manner, turned on his heel, and that is the last I have ever seen of him."
As Miss Ware had made no mention of the gentleman's name up to this time, I asked her to enlighten me on the subject, in order that I might seek to establish his identity. This she hesitated to do for fear that publicity might be brought upon her in case the affair should get to the attention of the newspapers in any way. She insisted that he had treated her with uniform courtesy throughout their brief acquaintance, and outside of his proposal for her to accompany him to Australia, his conduct had been surrounded with the utmost propriety. Even the proposed trip to Australia, she said, was within the bounds of dignity, as she understood him to mean that they should become man and wife before making the start, but the general public might not condescend to look at it in that light. "My actions throughout," continued Marie, "were strictly proper, although I confess that I was not altogether prudent at times."
Upon my assurance that I would not permit the matter to obtain publicity—for the time being, at least—she finally consented to give me the name of her quondam friend by stating that it was Douglas W. Doyle. I proceeded at once to make inquiry concerning Mr. Doyle, but could make little headway, as nobody appeared to know him. A few days later Miss Ware called me up by 'phone and asked me if I had ascertained anything about him. In reply to my negative response, she stated that she had, and requested me to call immediately, which I did.
From an authentic source, she had learned that Doyle was in the Government Secret Service, and that Uncle Sam had footed all the bills for her lavish entertainment, which had been instigated by William J. Burns, who had set Doyle after her with a view of captivating her and using this influence as a key to unlock the secrets in her possession. Aside from this information, she was unable to tell me anything further, so I concluded to take up the chase on my own account. After locating my man, I trailed him for some time personally, later employing a private detective to do the work for me.
Investigation resulted in our becoming familiar with his habits, and it was not long before he had made some new and very genial acquaintances. Heretofore he had played the part of an entertainer. Now he was being entertained to a finish, and so aptly had the trap been laid, and the bait so enticingly prepared, that he soon fell prey to the winning smiles that were showered upon him in such lavish profusion. There was nothing too rich for his blood, and we plied him with bubble water until further orders, with the result that in the heat of one of his most frenzied debauches he gave the whole snap away—told us everything relative to his affair with Marie excepting the wind-up, and we were already posted about it. He was too vain and conceited to admit defeat at the hands of a clever woman, notwithstanding the old adage of "in vino Veritas;" but in every other respect he canvassed the situation with the highest degree of accuracy.
As a fitting climax to this most remarkable piece of work, he declared that he was still possessed of the document, which, after being signed by her, he intended to convert into damaging evidence. In other words, he explained that the papers purporting to be a transfer of mining property had been prepared in such a manner that the last page contained no writing whatsoever with the exception of the notarial acknowledgment, and it was his intention to attach this to a typewritten confession, which he would prepare at his leisure.
We were all astounded at the man's revelations, but pretended to be highly entertained by the portrayal, evincing no concern beyond a desire to accord him unlimited praise for his display of ingenuity. After a few more bottles, Mr. Doyle reached a stage of innocuous desuetude, and his entertainers gradually faded away, leaving him as one "who treads alone some banquet hall deserted," covered with glory and stray champagne corks that had seen better days.
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