Chapter XXVI
A few days later, after hours of worry, Mary Blaine visited the office of Clive Reardon, attorney for the Estate of Templeton Blaine. From the moment he had met her, while admitting she was eccentric, Clive Reardon had liked her. She was an easy client to get along with. She did not make preposterous demands nor expect him to perform miracles. She left practically everything in his able hands. For years he had been Templeton's lawyer and he understood thoroughly every detail of his affairs.
As soon as she had been ushered into Mr. Reardon's presence, Mary said abruptly: "The weather is fine and I'm looking well. So let's get down to business at once. It is serious business."
"I am always at your disposal," said the lawyer.
"I want you to prove that I am not Mary Blaine," she told him bluntly.
He was surprised. "Surely you are joking."
"The only joke I am perpetrating right now is living at all," she said bitterly. "I am in a frightful dilemma. If we don't act quickly Dorothy's entire future may be destroyed."
"Surely it is not as serious as that," he exclaimed.
"It is worse," said she. "Before I came to live in New York I kept a place in the Midwest. For years I have been a notorious character known as Madame Leota. I thought when I arrived in New York that all my past was burned away or that it was a locked book with the key lost. Unfortunately I was utterly wrong. My past has caught up with me."
Then she told him in detail about the visit of Blackie Gray. Despite the gravity of the situation Clive Reardon could not help smiling at her description of how she had tumbled him down the stairs.
"I presume you are aware that what he suggested was blackmail?" he asked thoughtfully.
"Yes," she said.
"And that we can have him arrested at once?"
"What difference would that make? There are hundreds of other Blackies. They might keep cropping up all the time. From now on I'll never have a moment's peace of mind. Not because I give a damn about myself but for Dorothy's sake. I don't want her life to be ruined. She is rich and beautiful and young. There is much happiness waiting for her. Nothing must occur to spoil it. Therefore I wish to retire from the picture. I can't merely resign being her aunt. That would be ridiculous. For that reason you must help. As attorney for the estate you must bring suit against me as an impostor. In the court proceedings you must prove that I am Louella Leota of the underworld of the Midwest. You must not bring out any facts to prove that I am Mary Blaine. Of course I will fight the case. I'll prejudice the court against me by my coarseness. I can assure you that won't be hard."
"It is a strange request," he mused. "I doubt if I shall have any part in it."
"It means Dorothy's happiness," she pleaded.
"Do you think Dorothy would be happy without you?"
"She'd get over any attachment as soon as she found what a brazen hussy I really am."
"Do you think you would be happy without Dorothy?"
"That's beside the point. I am an old woman. Only a short road of life still remains for me to traverse. But for Dorothy the road is long. It must be kept sunny and beautiful."
Clive Reardon toyed thoughtfully with his fountain-pen. He drew funny little figures on a pad of paper. It was a habit in which he indulged when thinking deeply. Sometimes in court during the progress of the case he drew the judge. If His Honor could have seen the grotesque caricatures of himself, it is doubtful if Clive Reardon would have been so eminently successful.
At last he glanced up at Mary Blaine.
"I think it but right to tell you," he began, "that both your brother Templeton and I knew for many years that you were Louella Leota."
"I was wondering why you did not seem surprised at my confession," she broke in.
"That is not all we learned about you," he continued. "We had a clever investigator in your city who found out numerous other things as well. We even traced you further back. To your Fort Wayne days. Also Peoria. We found a doctor who reported how marvelously and unselfishly you had given your time and money to help the little patients in a certain Children's Hospital. We traced hundreds of your philanthropies. We found out much about your religious life."
"That was only a diversion,", she said uncomfortably. "I have never been particularly religious."
"It is neither necessary for you to abase nor defend yourself," he said brusquely. "All the facts are in the reports and that is all with which I am concerned. We learned how you saved numerous girls from a life of shame, girls who had taken one false step and were afraid to turn back until you talked to them like an all-knowing mother. I remember well Templeton's reaction to those stories."
"What did he say?" she asked trembling.
"He said he wondered if any society matron had ever saved as many lives as you. It seemed to me he was actually proud of you. Certainly he never thought any the less of you because of the reports. He knew that you had run away with Whiteman Manners when you were only a child. He found out the true character of that scoundrel but he could never find what happened to him. And Templeton said: 'If only there had been a Madame Leota to comfort my sister Mary in her hour of tragedy, how different her life might have been.'"
For a moment neither spoke. Mary Blaine felt as though she were living in a dream.
"In any event," continued Clive Reardon, "your brother thought you were a fit guardian for Dorothy. And so do I. I, of course, am rather broad-minded. I have been married three times. So perhaps my opinion is not worth a great deal."
"This is all very surprising," Mary faltered, "but I am glad Templeton knew. It puts my mind somewhat at rest. Nevertheless, the case of Dorothy still remains unchanged. In the eyes of the world she would be disgraced if the truth about her aunt were ever discovered. Therefore you must bring suit against me as an impostor and I will retire ungracefully from the picture. Of course if you have any scruples about participating in such a case, I can get someone else, but you are the logical one to bring the suit because it is your duty to care for the estate."
"I have no scruples," he admitted. "A lawyer ceases to worry much about ethics after his first five years of practice. We all deal in perjury more or less and never are bothered much by conscience or remorse. If your mind is definitely made up, I'll start action against you. It will be easy to prove that you are Madame Leota."
"I of course will apparently fight the case," said she.
"You'd have to. A woman could not relinquish her rights to a share of such a large estate without making some effort to retain it."
"Perhaps you can suggest a lawyer I might hire to defend me. I would rather one who is not your personal friend."
"I'd suggest Phil Gould. I have only a bowing acquaintance with him. His reputation is first rate."
"I don't want too good a lawyer," she chuckled.
"In that I disagree with you. You would in this instance secure the services of as good a lawyer as you can get. Let me warn you though not to hire a defense lawyer until I commence action against you. I'll get the charges ready as quickly as possible. I believe I can hustle the case through because so much money is involved it must be settled quickly so that the assets of the estate will not be squandered by a woman of low character."
"Bravo!" she cried. "When you sock, you sock."
Ten days later, Mary Blaine raised such a commotion in her room that Dorothy ran upstairs to see what it was all about.
"What's the matter?" she asked. "Are you exploding?"
"Worse than that," was the stormy reply. "That damn Clive Reardon has the nerve to suggest that I am not your father's sister. He is bringing suit against me as an impostor."
Mary had expected Dorothy to show surprise. Instead she laughed at the matter as though it were of trifling importance.
"That's foolish," she said. "Of course you are Mary Blaine. Anyway, whether you are or not, you are satisfactory to me."