Flint by L'Amour Louis

Author:L'Amour, Louis [L'Amour, Louis]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Louis L'Amour
Published: 2010-12-10T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Lottie Kettleman stood rigidly before the bank window. "I do not understand you," she protested. She was very pale. Inwardly she seethed with anger. "I ..."

"I am sorry, Mrs. Kettleman." The cashier's manner was polite, but shaded with coolness. "Mr. Kettleman closed his account several weeks ago."

He hesitated, ashamed of his feeling of satisfaction. This woman had always been arrogant, imperious, difficult. "It was just before Mr. Kettleman left for Virginia."

She turned quickly and left. She was filled with vindictive anger, but she was also frightened. Only this morning, using the key her father secretly had had made for her, she had opened the safe at home. It was empty.

She got into a hansom cab and raged at its slowness until she reached Burroughs' office. She was shown in at once.

"He left an allowance for you." Burroughs carefully kept all expression from his face. "You are to be paid one hundred dollars a month for twelve months."

"What?" She fought to keep her poise. "But where is he? What does this mean?"

Burroughs shuffled papers on his desk. "Mr. Kettleman never confided in anyone, but it has been apparent for several weeks that he was arranging his affairs for an extended absence. It may be" — Burroughs kept his expression bland — "that he suspects a plot against his life. It seems there was an incident at Saratoga where a man tried to kill him."

"That's absurd! It was just a gambling argument."

"As I have said, he did not confide in me, but I happen to know he retained the Pinkertons for an investigation. That was unusual, to say the least for, as you were no doubt aware, Mr. Kettleman maintained his own private organization."

She had known nothing of the kind. Her throat tightened, and she thought back swiftly. There were no letters. Meetings, yes. And with Baldwin — but how could he learn of that?

"How does he expect me to live on one hundred dollars a month?" she protested.

"Many families do," Burroughs replied, remembering he had been married on considerably less. "You have a beautiful home, and there is always" — he cleared his throat — "your father."

Lottie Kettleman shot him an angry glance. Was he being sarcastic?

"You have no idea where he is?"

"No, I have not."

Lottie Kettleman arrived home frightened and furious. For the first time she began to think seriously about the man she had married.

Kettleman, her father assured her, was a lonely man without family ties. He had never known a home, and would be easy pickings for a clever girl. Once married to him she would have access to his private papers, the confidences that were natural between husband and wife, and she could supply tips to her father and his associates by which they could make millions.

It was not the first time she had assisted her father in his schemes, and this seemed more practical than most of them. Moreover, Kettleman was handsome, distinguished-looking, as well as both feared and respected in financial circles.

It was only

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