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The Trevor Case, by Natalie Sumner Lincoln—A Project Gutenberg eBook
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<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 69004 ***</div>
<div class="figcenter hide" style="width: 30%">
<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Cover" />
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p class="ph1"><i>The</i><br />
TREVOR CASE</p></div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
<a id="i_frontispiece"><img src="images/i_frontispiece.jpg" width="400" alt="De Morny’s eyes sparkled with anger as he watched"
title="" /></a></div></div>
<p class="caption">“De Morny’s eyes sparkled with anger as he watched”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h1>THE<br />
TREVOR CASE</h1></div>
<p class="ph2 nobreak">By <span class="smcap">Natalie Sumner Lincoln</span></p>
<p class="center no-indent p3b"><span class="smcap">Author of</span><br />
“C. O. D.,” “The Man Outside,” Etc.</p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;">
<img src="images/i_title.jpg" width="150" alt="Publishers Logo"
title="" /></div>
<p class="center no-indent p3"><span class="smaller">With Frontispiece by</span><br />
EDMUND FREDERICK</p>
<p class="center no-indent">A. L. BURT COMPANY<br />
PUBLISHERS - - NEW YORK</p>
<p class="center no-indent"><span class="smcap"><small>Published by Arrangement with D. Appleton & Company</small></span></p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p class="center no-indent"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1912, by</span><br />
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY</p></div>
<p class="center no-indent"><i>Published February, 1912</i></p>
<p class="center no-indent">Printed in the United States of America</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p class="center no-indent">TO THE MEMORY OF<br />
MY DEAR FATHER<br />
AND<br />
TO MY KINDEST CRITIC<br />
MY MOTHER</p></div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p class="ph2 nobreak">CONTENTS</p></div>
<table border="0" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="3" summary="CONTENTS">
<tr><td class="tdc"><small>CHAPTER</small></td>
<td class="tdl"> </td>
<td class="tdc"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdtr">I.</td>
<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Face to Face</span></td>
<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdtr">II.</td>
<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Secret of the Safe</span></td>
<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_4">4</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdtr">III.</td>
<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">At the Macallisters’</span></td>
<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_14">14</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdtr">IV.</td>
<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Inquest</span></td>
<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdtr">V.</td>
<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Signet Ring</span></td>
<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_42">42</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdtr">VI.</td>
<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Verdict</span></td>
<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdtr">VII.</td>
<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Wheels Within Wheels</span></td>
<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdtr">VIII.</td>
<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Challenge</span></td>
<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdtr">IX.</td>
<td class="tdl">“<span class="smcap">Main 6</span>”</td>
<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdtr">X.</td>
<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Caught on the Wires</span></td>
<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdtr">XI.</td>
<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Behind Closed Doors</span></td>
<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_127">127</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdtr">XII.</td>
<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Blind Clews</span></td>
<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_148">148</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdtr">XIII.</td>
<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Threat</span></td>
<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_168">168</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdtr">XIV.</td>
<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Hand and Pin</span></td>
<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_183">183</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdtr">XV.</td>
<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Man Proposes</span></td>
<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_196">196</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdtr">XVI.</td>
<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Playing With Fire</span></td>
<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_204">204</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdtr">XVII.</td>
<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Across the Potomac</span></td>
<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_212">212</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdtr">XVIII.</td>
<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Nip and Tuck</span></td>
<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_222">222</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdtr">XIX.</td>
<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Conference</span></td>
<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_228">228</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdtr">XX.</td>
<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Casting of Nets</span></td>
<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_240">240</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdtr">XXI.</td>
<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Forging the Fetters</span></td>
<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_263">263</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdtr">XXII.</td>
<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">At the Time Appointed</span></td>
<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_280">280</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdtr">XXIII.</td>
<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Lifting of the Cloud</span></td>
<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_306">306</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdtr">XXIV.</td>
<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Journeys End in Lovers’ Meeting</span></td>
<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_322">322</a></td></tr>
</table>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</span></p>
<p class="ph1 nobreak">THE TREVOR CASE</p></div>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I<br />
<span class="smaller">FACE TO FACE</span></h2>
<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">A</span> faint</span>, very faint scratching noise broke
the stillness. Then a hand was thrust
through the hole in the window pane; deftly
the burglar alarm was disconnected, and the
fingers fumbled with the catch of the window.
The sash was pushed gently up, and a man’s
figure was outlined for a second against the
star-lit sky as he dropped noiselessly through
the window to the stair landing.</p>
<p>For a few moments he crouched behind the
heavy curtains, but his entry had been too noiseless
to awaken the sleeping household. Gathering
courage from the stillness around him,
the intruder stole down the steps, through the
broad hall, and stopped before a door on his
left. Cautiously he turned the knob and entered
the room.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</span></p>
<p>He could hear his own breathing in the heavy
silence, as he pushed to the door, and then
flashed the light of his electric torch on his surroundings.
The room, save for the massive
office furniture, was empty. Satisfied on that
point, the intruder wasted no time, but with
noiseless tread and cat-like quickness, he
darted across the room to the door of what was
apparently a closet. It was not locked, and as
it swung back at his touch the front of a large
safe was revealed.</p>
<p>Placing his light where it would do the most
good, the intruder tried the lock of the safe.
Backwards and forwards the wards fell under
the skillful fingers of the cracksman. His keen
ear, attuned to the work, at last solved the combination.
With a sigh of relief he stopped to
mop his perspiring face and readjust his mask.</p>
<p>“Lucky for me,” he muttered, “the safe’s an
old-fashioned one. As it is, it’s taken three
quarters of an hour, and time’s precious.”</p>
<p>The big door moved noiselessly back on its
oiled hinges, and the intruder, catching up his
electric torch, turned its rays full on the interior<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span>
of the safe. For one second it burned
brilliantly; then went dark in his nerveless
hand.</p>
<p>God in Heaven! He was mad! It was some
fantasy conjured up by his excited brain.
With desperate effort his strong will conquered
his shrinking senses. Slowly, slowly the light
was raised to that fearful thing which crouched
just inside the entrance.</p>
<p>Eye to eye they gazed at each other—the
quick and the dead! The intruder’s breath
came in panting gasps behind his mask. Again
the light went out. In his abject state of terror,
instinct did for him what reason could not.
His hand groped blindly for the safe door; but
not until it closed did he regain his benumbed
wits.</p>
<p>Silently, mysteriously as he had come, so he
vanished.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II<br />
<span class="smaller">THE SECRET OF THE SAFE</span></h2></div>
<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">“H</span>elp</span>! Murder! Murder!”</p>
<p>The sinister cry rang through the
house.</p>
<p>Seated at the breakfast table, his daughter
opposite him, the daily papers at his elbow, the
Attorney General, hardly realizing the tragical
interruption, sprang from his chair as the cry
came nearer and the door burst open admitting
his confidential secretary.</p>
<p>“In God’s name, Clark, what is the matter?”
he demanded, seizing the distraught man.</p>
<p>“Father, Father, give him time, he is dreadfully
upset,” begged Beatrice, coming around
the breakfast table and laying a restraining
hand on his arm.</p>
<p>Wilkins, the impassive butler, for once
shaken out of his calm, hastened to assist his
master in helping Alfred Clark to a chair, and
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span>then he gave the half-fainting man a stiff drink
of whisky.</p>
<p>“It’s the safe, sir,” gasped Clark, struggling
to regain his self-control.</p>
<p>“The safe?” questioned the Attorney General.</p>
<p>“Yes; she’s there—dead!”</p>
<p>“She—who?”</p>
<p>“Mrs. Trevor.”</p>
<p>“My wife! Nonsense, man; she is breakfasting
in her own room!”</p>
<p>“Beg pardon, sir,” Wilkins interrupted.
“Mary has just brought the tray downstairs
again. She says she knocked and knocked, and
couldn’t get an answer.”</p>
<p>The Attorney General and his daughter exchanged
glances. It was impossible to tell
which was the paler. Without a word he
turned and hastened out of the room. He
hardly noticed the excited servants who, attracted
by the cry, had already gathered in the
spacious hall outside the door of his private
office. With swift, decisive step he crossed the
room and stood in front of the two opened
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span>doors. A cry of unutterable horror escaped
him. For one dreadful moment the room
swam around him, and there was a roaring in
his ears of a thousand Niagaras.</p>
<p>“Father?”</p>
<p>With a violent effort he pulled himself together.
“Do not enter,” he said, sternly, to
the shrinking girl who had remained by the hall
door. “This is no sight for you. Wilkins,
send at once for Doctor Davis. Clark, close
that door, and see that no one comes in except
the doctor. Then telephone the Department
that I shall not be there to-day.” His orders
were obeyed instantly.</p>
<p>The Attorney General turned back to the
safe; to that still figure which was keeping vigil
over his belongings. The pitiless light of a
sunny morning shone full on the beautiful face.
The wonderful Titian hair, her greatest glory,
was coiled around the shapely head, and her
low-cut evening dress was scarcely disarranged
as she crouched on one knee leaning her weight
on her left arm, which was pressed against the
door-jamb of the safe. Her lips were slightly
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span>parted, and her blue eyes were wide open, the
pupils much dilated. No need to feel pulse or
heart; to the most casual observer it was apparent
that she was dead.</p>
<p>His beautiful young wife! Edmund Trevor
groaned aloud and buried his face in his hands.
Clark watched him for a moment in unhappy
silence; then moved quietly over to the window
and looked out with unseeing eyes into the
garden.</p>
<p>The large mottled brick- and stone-trimmed
house was situated on one of Washington’s
most fashionable corners, Massachusetts Avenue
and Dupont Circle. On being appointed
Attorney General, Trevor had taken it on a
long lease. He had selected it from the many
offered because it was very deep on the 20th
Street side, thus allowing the drawing-room,
library, and dining-room to open out of each
other.</p>
<p>On the right of the large entrance hall was a
small reception room, and back of it the big
octagonal-shaped room, with its long French
windows opening into the enclosed garden, that
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span>had appealed to him for his own private use,
as a den, or office. And he was particularly
pleased with the huge safe, more like a vault,
which had been built in one of the large old-fashioned
closets by the owner. It had been
useful to the Attorney General on many occasions.</p>
<p>The silence was broken by a tap at the door.</p>
<p>“Doctor Davis, sir,” announced Wilkins.</p>
<p>“I came at once,” said the doctor, advancing
quickly to the Attorney General’s side. A horrified
exclamation escaped him as his eyes fell
on the tragic figure, and he recoiled a few steps.
Then his professional instincts returned to him,
and he made a cursory examination of Mrs.
Trevor. As he rose from his knees, the eyes
of the two men met. He silently shook his
head.</p>
<p>“Life has been extinct for hours,” he said.
“Rigor mortis has set in.”</p>
<p>The Attorney General gulped back a sob.
Reason had told him the same thing when he
first found her; but he had hoped blindly
against hope.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span></p>
<p>“Can she be removed to her room?” he
asked, as soon as he could control his voice.</p>
<p>The doctor nodded his acquiescence, and
with the assistance of Clark, Wilkins, and
the chauffeur, they carried all that was
mortal of the beautiful young wife to her
chamber.</p>
<p>Shortly afterwards, the Attorney General returned
to his office, and together he and Clark
went over the contents of the safe. They had
just finished their task when Beatrice came
into the room.</p>
<p>Beatrice Trevor was a well-known figure in
the society life of New York, Paris, and Washington.
Taller than most women, with a superb
figure, she carried herself with regal
grace. She was not, strictly speaking, a
beauty; her features were not regular enough.
But there were men, and women, too, who were
her adoring slaves.</p>
<p>Her mother had died when she was five years
old, and up to the time of her eighteenth year
she had lived alone with her father. Then he
met, wooed, and won the beautiful foreigner,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span>whose butterfly career had come to so untimely
an end.</p>
<p>“Father, I <i>must</i> know just what has happened.”</p>
<p>“Why, my dearest—” there was deep tenderness
in the Attorney General’s usually impassive
voice—“I thought you had been told.
Hélène evidently went into the safe to put
away her jewelry; and in some mysterious way
she must have pulled the heavy door to behind
her. Thus locked in, she was smothered. It
is terrible—terrible—” His voice shook with
the intensity of his emotion. “But—well,
Wilkins, what is it?”</p>
<p>“A detective, sir, from headquarters.”</p>
<p>“A detective! What on earth—did you
telephone them, Clark?” The secretary
shook his head. “No? Well, show him in,
Wilkins.”</p>
<p>There was nothing about the man who entered
to suggest a detective; he was quietly
dressed, middle aged, and carried himself with
military erectness. He had spent five years
as a member of the Canadian Northwest
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span>mounted police, and that service had left its
mark in his appearance.</p>
<p>“Good morning, Mr. Attorney General.”
His bow included all in the room. “Sorry to
disturb you, sir, but my errand won’t take
long.”</p>
<p>“Be seated, Mr. ——”</p>
<p>“Hardy—James Hardy, sir. Just before
dawn this morning, O’Grady, who patrols this
beat, noticed a man sneak out of your back
yard. O’Grady promptly gave chase and
caught his man just as he was boarding a train
for New York. He took him to the station
and had him locked up on suspicion. As the
fellow had a full kit of burglar’s tools with
him, including mask and sneakers, the Chief
sent me round here to ask if you’d been
robbed?”</p>
<p>“Oh, no,” replied the Attorney General.
“I have just been through my safe and everything
is intact. There’s nothing missing in
your quarters, Wilkins?” he added, turning to
the white-faced butler.</p>
<p>“No, sir; nothing, sir.” Wilkins’ voice
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span>trembled, and he looked at the detective with
frightened eyes.</p>
<p>“Perhaps he tried, and finding all the windows
barred gave it up as a bad job. I am—”
continued the Attorney General, but his speech
was cut short by the entrance of Doctor
Davis.</p>
<p>“I am told there is a detective here.” The
Attorney General bowed and motioned to
Hardy. “You are properly accredited?” went
on the physician. Hardy threw back his coat
and displayed his badge. “Have you told him
of Mrs. Trevor’s death?”</p>
<p>“No. Why speak of that terrible accident—”</p>
<p>“It was no accident.” The physician’s
voice, though low pitched, vibrated with feeling.</p>
<p>The Attorney General half rose from his
chair; then sank back again.</p>
<p>“Davis,” he said, almost fiercely, “you <i>know</i>
that by some fearful mischance Hélène locked
herself in the air-tight safe and was suffocated.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span></p>
<p>The detective glanced with quickened interest
at the two men.</p>
<p>“On closer examination upstairs,” said the
doctor, slowly, “I found a small wound under
the left breast. The wound was concealed by
the lace bertha of her evening dress. The
weapon penetrated to the heart, and she bled
internally. Mrs. Trevor was dead before she
was put in that safe.”</p>
<p>The detective broke the appalling silence
with an exclamation:</p>
<p>“Murdered!”</p>
<p>Without one word Beatrice Trevor fell fainting
at her father’s feet.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III<br />
<span class="smaller">AT THE MACALLISTERS’</span></h2></div>
<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">M</span>any</span> called, but few were invited to
attend Mrs. Van Zandt Macallister’s
stately entertainments. Possibly for that reason
alone her invitations were eagerly sought
and highly prized by social aspirants.</p>
<p>For more years than she cared to remember,
official, residential, and diplomatic Washington
had gathered on an equal footing in her hospitable
mansion on F Street. So strictly did
she draw social distinctions that one disgruntled
climber spoke of her evening receptions as
“Resurrection Parties,” and the name clung.
But all Washingtonians took a deep interest in
“Madam” Macallister, as they affectionately
called her. She was <i>grande dame</i> to her fingertips.</p>
<p>On the occasion of her daughter’s marriage
to the Duke of Middlesex she gave a beautiful
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span>wedding breakfast. The wedding was of international
importance. The President, his Cabinet,
and the Diplomatic Corps were among the
guests.</p>
<p>Mrs. Macallister was standing in the drawing-room
with her back to the dining-room door
talking to the President. As the butler drew
apart the folding doors, the long table, covered
with massive silver, china, and glass, gave way
under the weight. The crash was resounding.
The terrified guests glanced at each other.
Mrs. Macallister never even turned her head,
but went on conversing placidly with the President.</p>
<p>The doors were instantly closed; the guests,
taking their cue from their hostess, resumed
their light chatter and laughter; and in a remarkably
short time the table was cleared and
reset, and the breakfast announced. As the
President, with a look of deep admiration, offered
his arm to Mrs. Macallister, he murmured
in her ear:</p>
<p>“‘And mistress of herself though china
fall.’”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span></p>
<p>Washington society had never forgotten the
incident.</p>
<p>Mrs. Macallister had rather a caustic tongue,
but a warm, generous heart beat under her
somewhat frosty exterior. Her charities were
never aired in public. Only the clergymen
knew how many families she kept supplied with
coal in winter and ice in summer. And many
an erring sister had cause to bless her name.</p>
<p>Mrs. Macallister glanced impatiently at the
clock—twenty minutes past five. She leaned
forward and touched the electric bell beside the
large open fireplace. There were two things
she abominated—to be kept waiting—and midday
dinners; the former upset her nerves; the
latter her digestion.</p>
<p>“Has Miss Margaret returned?” she asked,
as Hurley entered with the tea tray.</p>
<p>Before the butler could answer there was the
sound of a quick, light footstep in the hall, and
then the portières were pushed aside.</p>
<p>Mrs. Macallister looked approvingly at her
granddaughter. Peggy was more like her father’s
people, and her grandmother’s heart had
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span>warmed to her from the moment the motherless
little baby had been placed in her tender care.
The young father, never very strong, had not
long outlived his girl-wife. Since then Peggy
and her grandmother had lived alone in the old-fashioned
residence, which her grandfather
Macallister had bought years before when coming
to live in Washington on the expiration of
his third term as Governor of Pennsylvania.</p>
<p>“Well, Granny, am I very late?” giving Mrs.
Macallister a warm hug. She had never stood
in awe of her formidable grandmother, but with
all the passionate feeling of her loving nature,
she looked up to and adored her.</p>
<p>“My dear, five o’clock is five o’clock, not
twenty minutes past,” retorted Mrs. Macallister,
smoothing her silvery hair, which had
been decidedly ruffled by Peggy’s precipitancy.</p>
<p>“I declare, Granny, you are as bad as Nana;
if it is three minutes past five she says its ‘hard
on six o’clock.’ I had an awfully good time
at the luncheon, and stayed to talk things over
with Maud. She has asked me to be one of her
bridesmaids, you know.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span></p>
<p>“Did you hear the news there?”</p>
<p>“News? What news?”</p>
<p>“Mrs. Trevor has been murdered!”</p>
<p>“Mrs. Trevor—murdered!” Peggy nearly
dropped her teacup on the floor.</p>
<p>“I really wish, Peggy, you would stop your
habit of repeating my words. It’s very uncomfortable
living with an echo under one’s nose.”</p>
<p>“Oh, Granny, please tell me all about it right
away.”</p>
<p>“Well, according to the <i>Evening Star</i>— <i>What</i>
is it, Hurley?” as that solemn individual
entered the room.</p>
<p>“Mr. Tillinghast, to see you and Miss Margaret,
ma’am.”</p>
<p>“Show him in. Now, Peggy, we will probably
get the news at first hand. Good evening,
Dick.”</p>
<p>The young fellow bowed with old-fashioned
courtesy over her beautifully shaped, blue-veined
hand. Clean living and plenty of outdoor
sports could be read in his clear skin and
splendid physique. He was a particular favorite
of Mrs. Macallister’s.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span></p>
<p>“I suppose you are discussing the all-absorbing
topic,” he said after greeting Peggy.</p>
<p class="p15b">“I have been reading this.” Mrs. Macallister
held up the paper with its flaring headlines:</p>
<p class="center no-indent"><span class="larger"><b>MURDER MOST FOUL</b></span><br />
MRS. TREVOR KILLED<br />
BY BURGLAR<br />
CRIMINAL IN THE TOILS</p>
<p class="p15">“The police acted very promptly, and deserve
a lot of praise,” said Dick.</p>
<p>“Well,” remarked Mrs. Macallister, slowly,
“they have caught the burglar, but whether he
is also the murderer is yet to be proved.”</p>
<p>“That’s true; but there is hardly any doubt.
Nothing was stolen, therefore it is a fairly easy
deduction that Mrs. Trevor, disturbed by some
noise, went down into the office to investigate
and was killed. He had the safe already open,
stabbed her, then locked her in. Probably his
nerve forsook him, and he fled without stopping
to steal what he came for.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span></p>
<p>“My <i>dear</i> Dick! Your theory might answer
if any other woman was in question; but Mrs.
Trevor—<i>she</i> wouldn’t have troubled herself if
there had been a cloud-burst in the office. She
was simply a human mollusk. And as for—”
Mrs. Macallister’s feelings were beyond expression.</p>
<p>“I say, aren’t you a little hard on her? I
don’t know when I’ve seen a more beautiful
woman, and one so popular—”</p>
<p>“With men,” supplemented Mrs. Macallister,
dryly.</p>
<p>Dick laughed outright. “Anyway,” he said,
“the police have found that the burglar entered
the house by the window on the stair landing,
which looks out on the roof of the butler’s
pantry. It is an easy climb for an active man.
All the windows on the first floor are heavily
barred. They found one of the small panes of
glass had been cut out, and the window unfastened,
although closed. I’m afraid our
friend, the burglar, will have a hard time proving
his innocence.”</p>
<p>“It is terrible, terrible,” groaned Peggy,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span>who had been reading the paper’s account of
the tragedy. “I must go at once and leave
a note for Beatrice,” and she started to
rise.</p>
<p>“Sit still, child; I have just returned from
the Trevors, and left your card and mine with
messages.”</p>
<p>“Did you see Beatrice, Granny?”</p>
<p>“No, only that odious Alfred Clark. I cannot
bear the man, he is so—so specious—”
hunting about for a word. “He told me that
Beatrice and the Attorney General would see
no one.”</p>
<p>“Beatrice must be terribly upset, poor darling.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t know there was much love lost between
them?”</p>
<p>“There wasn’t,” confessed Peggy. “Mrs.
Trevor was perfectly horrid to her.”</p>
<p>“That’s news to me,” said Dick, helping himself
to another sandwich.</p>
<p>“Beatrice is not the kind to air her troubles
in public,” answered Peggy, “and she never
talked much to me, either; but I couldn’t help
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span>noticing lots of things. I’ve got eyes in my
head.”</p>
<p>“That you have,” thought Dick, who had
long since fallen a victim.</p>
<p>“Why, last night Beatrice and I went to the
Bachelors’ together. I stopped for her, and
she just broke down and cried right there in
the carriage. She had had an awful scene with
her stepmother just before I got there. We
had to drive around for half an hour before
she was composed enough to enter the ballroom.”</p>
<p>“What did they quarrel about?” asked Mrs.
Macallister, deeply interested.</p>
<p>“She didn’t tell me.”</p>
<p>“By Jove! what actresses women are,” ejaculated
Dick. “I danced with her several times,
and I thought she was enjoying herself immensely.”</p>
<p>Peggy sniffed; she had not a high opinion of
a mere man’s perceptions; then she qualified
her disapproval by a smile which showed each
pretty dimple, and sent Dick into the seventh
heaven of bliss.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span></p>
<p>“Of what nationality was Mrs. Trevor?”
asked Mrs. Macallister, coming out of a brown
study.</p>
<p>“She was an Italian,” answered Dick.</p>
<p>“No, Dick, I think you are mistaken. I am
sure she was a Spaniard,” declared Peggy.
“She spoke Spanish faultlessly.”</p>
<p>Mrs. Macallister shook her head. “That
doesn’t prove anything. She spoke French
like a Parisian, and also Italian fluently. The
only language in which her accent was pronounced
was English.”</p>
<p>“Beatrice told me her maiden name was de
Beaupré, so perhaps she was of French descent,”
continued Peggy. “Mr. Trevor met
her in London. They were married six weeks
later very quietly, and Beatrice was not told of
the affair until after the ceremony.”</p>
<p>“Indeed!” Mrs. Macallister smiled grimly.
“Marry in haste, repent at leisure.”</p>
<p>“But being a lawyer perhaps he just naturally
pressed his suit quickly,” interrupted
Dick, man-like, standing up for his sex. “I’d
do the same, if <i>you</i> gave me half a chance,” he
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span>added in an ardent aside to Peggy, whose only
answer was a vivid blush.</p>
<p>“Don’t talk to me of lawyers,” retorted Mrs.
Macallister, who had unpleasant recollections
of a bitter lawsuit with one of her relatives.
“Their ways are past finding out. But I really
must discover who Mrs. Trevor was before her
marriage.”</p>
<p>“Why, Granny, I have just told you she was
Mademoiselle de Beaupré.”</p>
<p>“The only de Beaupré I have ever heard of,
Peggy, is Anne de Beaupré. And I imagine it
is a far cry from Sainte Anne to Hélène whose
very name suggests sulphur. Must you go?”
she asked, as Dick rose.</p>
<p>“Yes. I have a special story to send on to
the Philadelphia papers. If I hear any further
details of the murder, I’ll drop in and tell
you.”</p>
<p>“Thanks; but I have decided to attend the inquest,
which the papers say will be held at the
Trevors’.”</p>
<p>“Granny!” cried Peggy, in a tone of horror.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span></p>
<p>“Tut, child, of course I am going. I dearly
love a mystery; besides, the world and his wife
will be there.”</p>
<p>“And so will I,” added Dick, as he bowed
himself out.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV<br />
<span class="smaller">THE INQUEST</span></h2></div>
<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">T</span>he</span> dastardly murder created a tremendous
sensation not only in Washington,
but in every State of the Union as well. The
Trevors were bombarded with telegrams and
special delivery letters, and their house besieged
by reporters.</p>
<p>Mrs. Macallister was right; all fashionable
society turned out to attend the inquest, and
fought and struggled for admittance, rubbing
shoulders with the denizens of Southeast
Washington and Anacostia as they pushed their
way into the Trevor mansion.</p>
<p>The inquest was to be held in the library, the
suite of rooms, comprising parlor, library and
dining-room, having been thrown open to accommodate
the public. A rope had been
stretched in front of the office door and across
the square staircase to keep the crowd within
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span>bounds. Uniformed policemen stationed in the
wide hall warned those whose curiosity caused
them to linger about the room where the tragedy
occurred, to “move on.”</p>
<p>Mrs. Macallister, true to her word, had arrived
early, and she and Peggy had been given
seats in the library. As she glanced about her,
she caught the eye of Senator Phillips, who instantly
rose and joined her.</p>
<p>“This is a terrible affair,” said the Senator,
after they had exchanged greetings. “Beautiful
Mrs. Trevor—so young—so fascinating!”</p>
<p>“It is indeed dreadful,” agreed Mrs. Macallister,
with a slight shiver. “The idea of any
woman coming to such an end makes my blood
run cold. I cannot sleep at night thinking of
it. Have you seen the Attorney General?”</p>
<p>“Yes. He sent for me; we were college
chums, you know. I never saw such self-control.
He is bearing up most bravely under the
fearful shock.”</p>
<p>In the meantime, Peggy, sick at heart, was
looking about her and thinking of the many
handsome dinners, luncheons, and receptions
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span>she had attended in the Trevors’ beautiful
home. When all was said and done, Mrs.
Trevor had been an ideal hostess; for besides
beauty, she had tact and social perception, and,
therefore, had always steered clear of the social
pitfalls which lie in wait for the feet of the
unwary in Washington’s complex society.
Only the night before the murder, Mrs. Trevor
had given a large theater and supper party,
and Peggy remembered that she had never seen
her hostess appear more animated or more
beautiful; and now—“In the midst of life we
are in death”; the solemn words recurred to
Peggy as she watched the coroner and the jury
file into the room and seat themselves around
the large table which had been brought in for
their use.</p>
<p>To one side, representatives of the Associated
Press and the local papers were busy
with pad and pencil. Among the latter Peggy
recognized Dick Tillinghast. Some telepathy
seemed to tell him of her presence, for he
turned and his eyes lighted with pleasure as
he bowed gravely to her and Mrs. Macallister.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span></p>
<p>Senator Phillips and Mrs. Macallister were
intently scanning the jury. They realized how
much might depend upon their intelligence and
good judgment. In this case the jurymen had
apparently been selected from a higher stratum
of life than usual, and Senator Phillips sighed
with relief as he pointed to the men sitting at
the end of the long table.</p>
<p>“Why <i>did</i> the Lord ever make four such ugly
men?” he asked Mrs. Macallister, in a whisper.</p>
<p>“To show His power,” she answered, quickly.</p>
<p>All further remarks were cut short by Coroner
Wilson swearing in the jury. Their foreman
was then elected. All the witnesses were
waiting in the small reception room to the right
of the front door. Policemen guarded each entrance.</p>
<p>“Have you viewed the scene of the tragedy,
and the body of the victim?” asked the coroner.</p>
<p>“We have, sir,” answered the foreman.</p>
<p>Then the coroner in a few words briefly
stated the occasion for the hearing. The first
witness summoned was Doctor Davis. After
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span>being duly sworn, he seated himself in the witness
chair facing the jury. In a few clear
words he stated that he had been telephoned for
by Wilkins, and had come at once. On his arrival
he had been shown into the private office.</p>
<p>“Please state to the jury the exact position
in which you found Mrs. Trevor.”</p>
<p>“Mrs. Trevor was crouching on one knee directly
inside the safe, with her left hand pressing
against the door-jamb, so—” and he
illustrated his statement. “From the condition
of her body I judged she had been dead
about eight or nine hours. The pupils of her
open eyes were very much dilated.”</p>
<p>One of the jurymen leaned forward and
opened his lips as if to speak, then drew back.
The coroner noticed his hesitancy.</p>
<p>“Do you wish to question the witness?” he
asked.</p>
<p>“I—I,” he was obviously confused by the attention
drawn to him. “Doctor, I always
thought that when people died their eyes shut
up.”</p>
<p>“On the contrary,” answered Doctor Davis,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span>dryly. “Their eyes usually have to be closed
by the undertaker.”</p>
<p>“Did you order the body removed, Doctor?”
asked the coroner, resuming the examination.</p>
<p>“Yes. I thought that Mrs. Trevor had been
asphyxiated in the air-tight safe. It was not
until her clothes had been removed that I discovered
the small wound a little to one side under
her left breast. At the post-mortem we
found no other cause for death, Mrs. Trevor
having been perfectly sound physically and
mentally.”</p>
<p>“Were there no blood stains?”</p>
<p>“None. The weapon, which pierced the
heart, was broken off in the wound preventing
any outward flow of blood. She bled internally.
Death was probably instantaneous.”</p>
<p>“Have you the weapon?”</p>
<p>“Yes. I probed the wound in the presence
of the deputy-coroner and Doctor Wells. Here
it is.”</p>
<p>There was instant craning of necks to see the
small object which Doctor Davis took out of his
pocket. It was a piece of sharp-pointed steel
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span>about four inches long. The coroner passed it
over to the jury, then continued his questions.</p>
<p>“Could the wound have been self-inflicted?”</p>
<p>“Impossible, unless the victim was left-handed.”</p>
<p>“Now, Doctor, what kind of a weapon do you
think this point belongs to?”</p>
<p>“Well—” the doctor hesitated a moment—“I
don’t think it could be called a weapon in the
usual sense of the word. To me it looks like
the end of a hat-pin.”</p>
<p>His words caused a genuine sensation. A
hat-pin! Men and women looked at each other.
What a weapon for a burglar to use!</p>
<p>“Could so frail an article as a hat-pin penetrate
through dress, corset and underclothes?”
asked the coroner, incredulously.</p>
<p>“Mrs. Trevor wore no corsets. In place of
them she had on an elastic girdle which fitted
perfectly her slender, supple figure.”</p>
<p>The coroner asked a few more questions, then
the doctor was dismissed. The next to take the
stand was the deputy-coroner. His testimony
simply corroborated that of Doctor Davis in
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span>every particular. As he left the witness chair,
the clerk summoned Alfred Clark.</p>
<p>“Your name?” asked the coroner, after the
usual preliminaries had been gone through
with.</p>
<p>“Alfred Lindsay Clark.”</p>
<p>“Occupation?”</p>
<p>“Confidential secretary to the Attorney General.”</p>
<p>“How long have you been in his employ?”</p>
<p>“Eleven months.”</p>
<p>“And before that time?”</p>
<p>“I was a clerk in the Department of Justice
for over two years, in fact, ever since I have
resided in this city.”</p>
<p>“Then you are not a native of Washington?”</p>
<p>“No. My father was in the Consular Service.
At the time of my birth, he was vice consul
at Naples, and I was born in that city. I
lived abroad until two years and a half ago.”</p>
<p>“You were the first to find Mrs. Trevor, were
you not?”</p>
<p>“Yes. I always reach here at eight o’clock
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span>to sort and arrange the mail for the Attorney
General. He breakfasts at that time, and usually
joins me in the private office twenty minutes
later. At five minutes of nine we leave
for the Department. This is the everyday routine—”
he hesitated.</p>
<p>“And yesterday, Mr. Clark?”</p>
<p>“I arrived a few minutes earlier than usual,
as there were some notes which I had to transcribe
before the Attorney General left for the
Department. I went immediately to the office.”</p>
<p>“Did you notice any signs of confusion, or
unusual disturbance in the room?”</p>
<p>“No. Everything was apparently just as I
had left it the night before. I started to typewrite
my notes but had not proceeded very far
when I found I needed to refer to some papers
which were in the safe. So I went....”</p>
<p>“One moment. You know the combination?”</p>
<p>“Certainly. It is one of my duties to open
the safe every morning, and lock it the last
thing at night.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span></p>
<p>“Did you find the safe just the same as when
you left the night before?”</p>
<p>“Exactly the same. Apparently the lock
had not been tampered with.”</p>
<p>“Proceed.”</p>
<p>Clark spoke with a visible effort. “I unlocked
the safe and pulled open the door and
found—” his voice broke. “At first I could
not believe the evidences of my senses. I put
out my hand and touched Mrs. Trevor. Then,
and then only, did I appreciate that she was
dead. In unspeakable horror I ran out of the
room to summon aid.”</p>
<p>“What led you to think she was murdered?
Doctor Davis did not know it until much
later.”</p>
<p>“I beg your pardon. I had no idea Mrs.
Trevor was murdered.”</p>
<p>“Then, why did you cry ‘Murder’ as you ran
along?”</p>
<p>“I have no recollection of raising such a cry.
But I was half out of my senses with the shock,
and did not know what I was doing.”</p>
<p>Clark’s handsome face had turned a shade
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span>paler, and he moistened his lips nervously.
Mrs. Macallister noticed his agitation, and
gave vent to her feelings by pinching Peggy’s
arm.</p>
<p>“Was Mrs. Trevor facing you?”</p>
<p>“Yes. She was crouching on one knee, her
left hand extended.”</p>
<p>“Could two people stand in the safe at the
same time.”</p>
<p>“Side by side, yes; but not one in front of
the other. The safe, which really resembles a
small vault, is shallow but wide. The back of
it is filled with filing cases. In fact, Mrs.
Trevor’s body was wedged in between the cases
and the narrow door-jamb. It was probably
owing to this that she remained in such a peculiar
position.”</p>
<p>“Was her head sunk forward on her
breast?”</p>
<p>“No; on the contrary, it was thrown back and
she was looking up, so that I, standing, looked
directly down into her eyes.”</p>
<p>“Did you touch or move anything in the vault
before summoning aid?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span></p>
<p>There was a barely perceptible pause before
the secretary answered.</p>
<p>“No, sir; nothing.”</p>
<p>“Did you see much of Mrs. Trevor?”</p>
<p>“No. She came but seldom to the office during
the day.”</p>
<p>“Do you mean that it was her habit to go
there often at night?”</p>
<p>“As to that, I cannot say, because I am not
with the Attorney General at night unless some
special work has to be done.”</p>
<p>At that moment a note was handed to the
coroner. He read it twice; then addressed the
secretary, saying:</p>
<p>“I think that is all just now.”</p>
<p>Clark bowed and retired. Coroner Wilson
turned and addressed the jury.</p>
<p>“I have just received a note from the Chief
of Police. He says that his prisoner, the
burglar who was captured after leaving these
premises, has asked to be allowed to make a
statement before this jury. Therefore he has
been sent here under guard. Up to the present
time he has stubbornly refused to answer any
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span>questions, although every influence has been
brought to hear to make him speak. I expected
to call him later, anyway.”</p>
<p>The coroner’s remarks were interrupted by
the entrance of the guard with their prisoner.
He was of medium height, and insignificant
enough in appearance save for his small, piercing
blue eyes. His abundant red hair was
plastered down on his round, bullet-shaped
head, and his numerous freckles showed up
plainly against the pallor of his face.</p>
<p>“Swear the prisoner,” ordered the coroner.</p>
<p>The clerk rose and stepped up to the man.
“Place your hand on this book and say after
me: ‘I, John Smith—’”</p>
<p>“Hold on; my name’s William Nelson.
T’other one I just used to blind the cops,
see?”</p>
<p>“I, William Nelson, do solemnly swear—”
The singsong voice of the clerk, and the heavier
bass of the prisoner seemed interminable to
Peggy, whose nerves were getting beyond her
control. She wished he would get through his
confession quickly. It was awful sitting in
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span>callous judgment on a human being, no matter
how guilty he might be.</p>
<p>“Now, William Nelson, alias John Smith,”
said the coroner, sternly, “I am told you have
volunteered to confess—”</p>
<p>“Nix, no confession,” interrupted Nelson.
“Just an account of how I came to get mixed
up in this deal.”</p>
<p>“Well, remember you are on oath, and that
every word will be used against you.”</p>
<p>The prisoner nodded, cleared his throat, then
spoke clearly and with deliberation.</p>
<p>“I came to Washington just to get certain
papers. We knew those papers were kept in
the Attorney General’s private safe. I used to
be a messenger at the Department of Justice,
and knew this house well, as I often brought
papers to the Attorney General in his private
office here. I had my kit with me, and broke in
by way of the window over the pantry. The
safe is an old one, and I found the combination
easy. But, though I crack safes—by God! I
am no murderer! When I opened that door I
found the lady there—<i>dead</i>!” The man rose.
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span>“I know no more than you who killed her, so
help me God!”</p>
<p>Nelson’s deep voice, vibrating with intense
feeling, carried conviction. There was no
doubting the effect his words had upon the
jury and the spectators.</p>
<p>“I ain’t no coward, but the sight of that
figure crouching there, and I looking down into
her dead eyes, struck cold to my marrow bones.
I ain’t been able to sleep since,” and the prisoner’s
hand shook as he wiped the beads of
perspiration off his forehead.</p>
<p>“Quite a dramatic story,” said the coroner,
dryly. “And the proof?”</p>
<p>The prisoner struck the table fiercely with
his clenched hand.</p>
<p>“Go ask the men who hired me to come here
and steal the papers showing the attitude the
Attorney General and the Department of Justice
would take against the Fairbanks railroad
combine. Ask those who wanted to get the
news first, before it was given out to the
public.”</p>
<p>“Do you think they would incriminate themselves<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span>
by admitting such a rascally piece of
business?”</p>
<p>“Perhaps not,” sullenly, “but I’ll make
them.”</p>
<p>“Secondly, the motive of your presence here
does not clear you of the suspicion of being
the murderer. Did you get the papers?”</p>
<p>“No. When I saw that dead body I stopped
for nothing. You don’t believe me, but I’ve
told you God’s truth. I don’t mind doing time
for house-breaking; but I ain’t hankering for
the electric chair.”</p>
<p>The coroner rose abruptly and signaled to
the guards.</p>
<p>“You will be summoned again, Nelson,” he
said, and as the guards closed about the prisoner,
he announced that the hearing was adjourned
until one o’clock that afternoon.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V<br />
<span class="smaller">THE SIGNET RING</span></h2></div>
<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">E</span>xcitement</span> ran high among the spectators
as they crowded into the rooms a
few minutes before one o’clock. The burglar’s
story had impressed them by its sincerity.
But, if he was innocent, who could be the
criminal?</p>
<p>“Nelson knew how to play on people’s emotions
and made up a plausible tale; but as the
coroner says, he has given no proof to back
his statement that Mrs. Trevor was killed before
he entered the house,” said Philip White,
in answer to one of Peggy’s questions. She
and her grandmother were occupying their old
seats in the library, and Dick Tillinghast and
White had just joined them. Philip White,
who stood at the head of the district bar, was
not one to form opinions hastily. Therefore,
he was usually listened to. He was a warm
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span>friend of the Attorney General’s, and had been
a frequent visitor at his house.</p>
<p>“No, Miss Peggy,” he went on, “the fellow’s
just a clever criminal.”</p>
<p>“I rather believe in him,” said Peggy,
stoutly. “He didn’t have to tell what he
knew.”</p>
<p>“That’s just it—it was a neat play to the
galleries. He would have been summoned before
the jury anyway, and his story dragged
from him piece by piece. He hoped it would
tell in his favor if he volunteered and gave a
dramatic account of what occurred that
night.”</p>
<p>“Where did he get his information about
the papers being in the safe?” queried Mrs.
Macallister, who had been an interested
listener.</p>
<p>“Probably there is some leak in the Department
of Justice.”</p>
<p>The low hum of voices ceased as the
coroner’s clerk rose and called the Attorney
General to the stand.</p>
<p>Many a sympathetic eye followed his tall,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span>erect figure, as he passed quietly through the
room. Edmund Trevor had won distinction
early in life by his unremitting labor and
ability. A New Yorker born and bred, he had
given up a large law practice to accept the
President’s tender of the portfolio of Attorney
General. His devotion to his beautiful
wife, some twenty years his junior, had been
often commented upon by their friends.
While not, strictly speaking, a handsome man,
his dark hair, silvering at the temples, his
fine eyes and firm mouth gave him an air of
distinction. He was very popular with both
men and women, as his courtly manner and
kind heart gained him a warm place in their
regard. To-day sorrow and fatigue were visible
on his face. He looked careworn and
troubled.</p>
<p>After he had answered the usual questions
as to his age, full name, and length of residence
in Washington, the coroner turned directly
to him.</p>
<p>“How old was Mrs. Trevor, and where was
she born?” he asked.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span></p>
<p>“Thirty years old. She was born in Paris,
France.”</p>
<p>“Where did you first meet her?”</p>
<p>“In London at a ball given by the American
Ambassador three years ago.”</p>
<p>“When and where were you married?”</p>
<p>“We were married on the eleventh of June
of the same year, at St. George’s, Hanover
Square.”</p>
<p>The coroner’s manner was very sympathetic,
as he said:</p>
<p>“Now, Mr. Attorney General, will you kindly
tell the jury of your movements on Wednesday
night, last.”</p>
<p>“Certainly. I did not dine at home, as I
had to attend the annual banquet given by the
Yale alumni, at which I was to be one of the
speakers. Just before leaving the house, I
joined my wife and daughter in the dining-room.
Mrs. Trevor told me that, as she had
a bad nervous headache, she had decided not
to go to the Bachelors’ Cotillion, but instead
she was going to retire early. My daughter
Beatrice had, therefore, arranged to go to the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span>ball with her friend, Miss Macallister, who was
to call for her at ten o’clock.</p>
<p>“My motor was announced, and as I kissed
my wife, she asked me not to disturb her on
my return, as she wanted to get a good night’s
sleep. That was the last time I saw her
<i>alive</i>—” His voice quivered with emotion,
but in a few seconds he resumed: “On my
return, about midnight, I went directly upstairs.
Seeing no light in my wife’s room,
which is separated from mine by a large dressing
room, I retired.”</p>
<p>“Did you hear no noises during the night;
no cries; no person moving about?”</p>
<p>“No. I am always a heavy sleeper, besides
which I had had a very fatiguing day; a
Cabinet meeting in the morning; and I had
also been detained at the Department by pressure
of business until six o’clock that evening.”</p>
<p>“Were your doors and windows securely
fastened?”</p>
<p>“Wilkins attends to that. I did not put up
the night-latch on the front door because I
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span>knew Beatrice had to come in with her latch
key.”</p>
<p>“How did you find the house lighted on your
return?”</p>
<p>“Why, as is usual at that time of night when
we are not entertaining. All the rooms were
in darkness; the only lights being in the front
and upper halls—they were turned down low.”</p>
<p>“In regard to Wilkins—”</p>
<p>“I would trust him as I would myself,” interrupted
the Attorney General. “He has
lived first with my father and then with me
for over twenty years.”</p>
<p>“And your other servants?”</p>
<p>“I have every confidence in them. The
cook, second man, and chambermaids have been
in my employ for at least five years.”</p>
<p>“And Mrs. Trevor’s personal maid?”</p>
<p>“Came with her from England three years
ago.”</p>
<p>“Were you not surprised when Mrs. Trevor
did not breakfast with you the next morning?”</p>
<p>“No. My wife was not an early riser. She
always had a French breakfast served in her
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span>room. Unless she called to me to enter, as I
went downstairs, I often did not see her until
luncheon.”</p>
<p>“Was Mrs. Trevor left-handed?”</p>
<p>The Attorney General looked at the coroner
in surprise.</p>
<p>“She was, sir,” he answered.</p>
<p>“Have you formed any theory as to who perpetrated
this foul murder?”</p>
<p>“I think the burglar, Nelson, guilty.”</p>
<p>“Was Mrs. Trevor on good terms with everyone
of your household?”</p>
<p>The witness’ face changed, ever so slightly.</p>
<p>“To the best of my knowledge, she was,”
was the quiet reply.</p>
<p>“Then that is all. Stay just a moment,” as
the Attorney General rose. “Will you kindly
describe what took place on the discovery of
Mrs. Trevor’s body?”</p>
<p>In a concise manner the Attorney General
gave the details of that trying scene. He was
then excused.</p>
<p>His place was taken by Wilkins, who in a
few words confirmed the Attorney General’s
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span>statement that he had served the Trevor family,
as butler, for nearly twenty-one years.</p>
<p>“Did you securely close the house for the
night on Wednesday, Wilkins?”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir; I did, sir. I bolted every door
and window, sir.”</p>
<p>“Are you positive, Wilkins?”</p>
<p>“Absolutely positive, sir.”</p>
<p>“Did anyone call at the house after dinner
that night to see either of the ladies?”</p>
<p>“No, sir, no one; except Miss Macallister
came in her carriage to take Miss Beatrice to
the ball.”</p>
<p>“At what time did they finish dinner?”</p>
<p>“About twenty minutes past eight, sir. The
hall clock was striking the half hour as I carried
the coffee into the library. Mrs. Trevor
was there, and she told me that Miss Beatrice
had gone upstairs to dress, so I left her cup
on the table, sir.”</p>
<p>“At what time did you go to bed?”</p>
<p>“I went up a few minutes after ten o’clock,
sir. All the other servants had gone upstairs
before me.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span></p>
<p>“Was that their usual hour for retiring?”</p>
<p>“No, sir. You see, sir, Mrs. Trevor gave a
very large supper party for Madame Bernhardt
on Tuesday night. The guests didn’t leave until
nearly four o’clock Wednesday morning. We
were all dead tired from the extra work and
no sleep, so Mrs. Trevor told me in the library
that night, sir, that I was to tell the others to
go to bed as soon as their work was done, and
that I needn’t wait up, nor her maid either,
as she would undress herself.”</p>
<p>“Was that the last time you saw Mrs.
Trevor alive?”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir; the last time I saw her.”</p>
<p>There was a peculiar inflection in Wilkins’
usually quiet monotone that caught the coroner’s
attention.</p>
<p>“What do you mean, Wilkins?”</p>
<p>“I didn’t <i>see</i> her again, sir.”</p>
<p>“Well, I’ll change my question. Did you
hear her afterwards?”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir,” reluctantly.</p>
<p>“When?”</p>
<p>“Why, sir, the door bell rang about a quarter<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span>
to ten. It was a messenger boy with a
telegram for the Attorney General. I signed
for it, and walked over towards the library
intending to hand it to Mrs. Trevor. The
door was partly open, sir, and I heard the
ladies—”</p>
<p>“Ladies! What ladies?”</p>
<p>“Mrs. Trevor and Miss Beatrice, sir. I
recognized their voices.”</p>
<p>“Could you hear what they were saying?”</p>
<p>“Perfectly, sir; but indeed I didn’t listen
intentionally, sir. The carpet deadened my
footsteps; besides, they were too excited to
hear me.”</p>
<p>“Were they quarreling?”</p>
<p>“I—I—”</p>
<p>“Remember, Wilkins, you are on oath to
tell the truth, the <i>whole</i> truth.”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir.” The unhappy man glanced appealingly
at the jury, but found no help there.
They were all waiting expectantly for what
was to follow. “I only caught a few words,
sir. Miss Beatrice said: ‘And your price?’
‘You know it,’ answered Mrs. Trevor. She
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span>said it in a voice that seemed to infuriate Miss
Beatrice, who cried out: ‘You devil, get out
of my way, or I may forget myself and strike
you.’”</p>
<p>Everyone in the over-crowded rooms felt the
shock of the testimony.</p>
<p>“What happened next?”</p>
<p>“Just then the front door bell rang loudly.
Putting the telegram on the hall table, I went
to answer it, and found Mrs. Macallister’s footman
waiting in the vestibule. I started to tell
Miss Beatrice, but at that moment she walked
out of the library, with her cloak over her
arm. When I helped her on with it she was
trembling from head to foot.”</p>
<p>“What became of Mrs. Trevor?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know, sir. After the carriage
drove off, I went first into the private office
to fasten the windows, and from there into
the other rooms. I think Mrs. Trevor must
have gone upstairs when I was in the parlor.
I went to bed very soon after.”</p>
<p>“Were you disturbed in the night?”</p>
<p>“No, sir. The servants’ quarters are all
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span>on the fourth floor. The house is well built
and the walls are very thick. We couldn’t
hear any sound up there, except the bells in
the corridor, and they did not ring at all.”</p>
<p>“How did you find everything when you
came down the next morning?”</p>
<p>“Every window was locked on the ground
floor, and the night-latch was up on the front
door, sir. The window on the stairway by
which the burglar entered is covered by heavy
curtains; and as it was closed, I never noticed
it was unfastened until after the detective’s
arrival.”</p>
<p>“Did you enter the private office?”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir; nothing had been disturbed.”</p>
<p>“No sign of a struggle?”</p>
<p>“No, sir. Every chair and rug was in its
place.”</p>
<p>“That’s all; you can go now,” said the coroner,
after a moment’s silence. Wilkins heaved
a sigh of relief, as he hastened out of the
room.</p>
<p>Interest was at fever heat among the spectators.
For once Mrs. Macallister was too
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span>shocked by the trend of suspicion to voice her
feelings to Peggy.</p>
<p>Apparently the least concerned person in the
room was Beatrice Trevor, who had entered
in answer to the clerk’s summons. Lack of
sleep and anxiety had left their mark on the
girl’s finely cut features, but there was no
trace of fear in her large, candid eyes, which
were turned inquiringly on the coroner.</p>
<p>Peggy’s heart was hot within her. How
dare these people insinuate that Beatrice, her
dear, dear friend, was guilty of murder. The
idea was too preposterous!</p>
<p>Even the coroner was struck by the young
girl’s poise and dignity, and his manner was
very gentle as he said:</p>
<p>“Miss Trevor, I have just a few questions
to ask you. At what hour did you return from
the ball?”</p>
<p>“We left the New Willard at a quarter to
three, and reached here about fifteen minutes
later.”</p>
<p>“Did you encounter anyone as you entered?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span></p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“Was the house dark?”</p>
<p>“Yes; except for the light in the hall.”</p>
<p>“Did you go directly to your room?”</p>
<p>“Yes. I put up the night-latch, turned out
the light, and went to my room at once.”</p>
<p>“When did you last see your stepmother?”</p>
<p>“In the library, before the carriage came
for me.”</p>
<p>“Miss Trevor”—the coroner fumbled with
his watch chain—“what did you and Mrs.
Trevor quarrel about that night?”</p>
<p>The question struck home. Beatrice reeled
in her seat.</p>
<p>“What did you say?” she stammered.</p>
<p>The coroner repeated his question. With a
visible effort, Beatrice regained her self-control.</p>
<p>“That is a matter between my stepmother
and myself. I decline to discuss it with anyone.”</p>
<p>“But you must, Miss Trevor.”</p>
<p>“I will not. Our quarrel had nothing whatever
to do with Mrs. Trevor’s death.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span></p>
<p>“I am the best judge of that,” retorted
Coroner Wilson, but Beatrice remained obstinately
silent.</p>
<p>“Come, Miss Trevor, can you not see that
you are injuring yourself by this refusal.
People will jump to but one conclusion. For
your own sake, I beg you to tell us what your
quarrel was about.”</p>
<p>“I decline to answer.”</p>
<p>The coroner shrugged his shoulders. He had
warned her; he could do no more.</p>
<p>“Very well, Miss Trevor. You may retire.”</p>
<p>With pale, set lips and flashing eyes, Beatrice
swept from the room.</p>
<p>For a few minutes the coroner looked over
his papers, then he beckoned to his clerk.
The next instant, Lieutenant-Commander
Donald Gordon had been called to the stand.
There was a gasp of amazement from the fashionable
spectators. How came Donald Gordon
to be mixed up in this affair?</p>
<p>But none was more surprised than Donald
Gordon himself. He had been subpœnaed as
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span>a witness that morning, to his great disgust,
as he had orders to accompany the President
to New York on the afternoon train. He reported
the subpœna to his superiors, and another
aide had been detailed to attend the
President in his place.</p>
<p>Gordon had an enviable record as an officer
in the United States navy. He had served
bravely under Admiral Dewey at Manila, and
had on several occasions received special commendation
from Congress. Good-looking, in
a big, fine way, he was immensely popular in
the service, and also with his many civilian
friends.</p>
<p>“Mr. Gordon,” said the coroner, after he
had been duly sworn, “I wish to ask if this
is your property.” As he spoke, he held up
a heavy gold signet ring.</p>
<p>Absolute incredulity was plainly written on
Gordon’s face, as he leaned over and took the
ring.</p>
<p>“Yes,” he said, turning it over, “yes. It
is my class ring. My initials and the date of
my graduation from the Naval Academy are
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span>engraved on the inside.” Then his voice
deepened. “How came you to have this ring
in your possession?”</p>
<p>“It was found”—the coroner paused impressively—“it
was found tightly clasped in
Mrs. Trevor’s right hand.”</p>
<p>In stupefied silence, Gordon gazed at the
coroner, while the meaning of his words slowly
took form in his brain. Then he leaped to his
feet.</p>
<p>“You lie—damn you—you lie!” he cried,
fiercely.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI<br />
<span class="smaller">THE VERDICT</span></h2></div>
<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">S</span>o</span> totally unexpected had been the dénouement
that for a few seconds the spectators
sat stunned; then pandemonium broke
loose. It was only after the coroner threatened
to clear the rooms that quiet was restored.</p>
<p>“Such violence is unnecessary,” said he, addressing
Gordon.</p>
<p>“I—I—beg pardon,” the young officer spoke
with an effort. “Your statement was so utterly
unbelievable, so astounding that I forgot
myself.”</p>
<p>“It is absolutely true, and can be proved
by Doctor Davis and Detective Hardy, who
was present when the doctor found the ring.
Mrs. Trevor’s hand was so tightly clenched
that he had to exert his strength to force it
open. Can you explain its presence there?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span></p>
<p>He gazed intently at Gordon, but the latter
had his emotions under control, and his face
was expressionless, as he answered with perfect
composure:</p>
<p>“I cannot, sir.”</p>
<p>“Where were you on Wednesday night,
last?”</p>
<p>“I dined at the Metropolitan Club with
Lieutenant James Raymond. We went later
to the Bachelors’ Cotillion.”</p>
<p>The coroner held a whispered conversation
with his clerk, then turned to the witness.</p>
<p>“Will you kindly withdraw to the waiting
room, Mr. Gordon; but don’t leave the house,
as I wish to call you again to the stand.”</p>
<p>Gordon nodded silently to Dick Tillinghast
and several other friends as he left the room.</p>
<p>The next witness was Lieutenant Raymond.
His testimony was very brief. Yes, he and
Lieutenant-Commander Gordon had dined together
on Wednesday night. They had left
the Club about half past nine as he, Raymond,
was a member of the Committee and had to
go early to the New Willard. No, Mr. Gordon
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span>did not accompany him to the hotel; but had
left him at the corner of 17th and H Streets,
saying he had to return to his rooms at the
Benedict, but would go to the dance later on.
Gordon did not enter the ballroom until just
after supper, which was served at midnight.</p>
<p>“Are you positive of that?” asked the coroner.</p>
<p>“Absolutely positive, because I had to get
a temporary partner for Miss Underhill, who
was to have danced the cotillion with Mr. Gordon.”</p>
<p>“How long a time would it take for Mr.
Gordon to go from 17th and H Streets to his
apartment?”</p>
<p>“About five minutes.”</p>
<p>“And how long would it take him to get
from his apartment at the Benedict to the New
Willard?”</p>
<p>“Seven minutes if he went in the cars, and
fifteen minutes if he walked.”</p>
<p>Lieutenant Raymond was then excused, and
after his departure Detective Hardy was called
to the witness chair. He gave a brief résumé
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span>of all that took place after the murder was
discovered.</p>
<p>“Did you find any trace of the end of the
weapon?” asked the coroner.</p>
<p>“No, sir. I turned the whole place inside
out, but could find nothing. The only clue I
had to go upon was the ring which we found
in Mrs. Trevor’s hand. I saw at a glance that
it was a naval class ring, so I at once went
to the Navy Department. There I looked
through the register of Annapolis graduates,
and found that two men in that class had the two
initials ‘D. G.’—Donald Gordon and Daniel
Green. The latter is stationed at Mare Island,
California. That eliminated him, so I went to
Mr. Gordon’s quarters at the Benedict Apartment
House.” He paused.</p>
<p>“Go on,” ordered the coroner. “Tell your
story in your own way.”</p>
<p>The jury to a man were leaning across the
table, regarding the detective with deep interest.</p>
<p>“The janitor there is a friend of mine, so
he let me into Mr. Gordon’s apartment, which
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span>is on the second floor, with his pass key. I
searched his rooms thoroughly, but could find
nothing. Then I went through his personal
belongings. In the inner pocket of his overcoat,
I found a few pieces of a torn note.</p>
<p>“It didn’t take me long to fit the words together.
I then pasted them all on a sheet of
note paper. Here, you can see for yourselves.”</p>
<p>He drew out his pocketbook as he spoke,
and removed from it a sheet of paper on which
were pasted scraps torn in different shapes,
and handed it to the coroner. After one
startled glance, the coroner read the contents
aloud.</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>“Come—Wedn—half—elev—must—you—for—leav—New
Yor—</p>
<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Hélène de—T—</span>”</p></div>
<p>Without a word of comment, the coroner
handed the paper to the jurymen, who eagerly
scanned it.</p>
<p>“Have you any further evidence to give to
the jury?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span></p>
<p>“No, sir.”</p>
<p>“That is all, then, Hardy. You are excused.
Bayne,” to his clerk, “recall Mr. Gordon.”</p>
<p>Gordon was walking impatiently up and
down the smaller room, eager to be gone, and
he answered the summons with alacrity.</p>
<p>“Mr. Gordon, where were you between the
hours of nine thirty <span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span> and midnight on
Wednesday last?”</p>
<p>“I decline to state.”</p>
<p>“Tut! We know you called to see Mrs.
Trevor at eleven thirty that night.”</p>
<p>“Indeed, and may I ask who your informant
is?”</p>
<p>The coroner paid no attention to the interruption,
but went steadily on with his examination.</p>
<p>“Did Mrs. Trevor admit you?”</p>
<p>Silence.</p>
<p>The coroner repeated his question.</p>
<p>Still no reply.</p>
<p>“Come, sir; you must answer. Yes, or no?”</p>
<p>Gordon stirred uneasily in his chair. “I
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span>was in my rooms at the Benedict until I left to
go to the ball,” he said.</p>
<p>“Was anyone with you?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“Did anyone see you leave the Benedict?”</p>
<p>“Not to my knowledge.” Then he added
quickly, “At least, there may have been some
of the other tenants around, or perhaps the
janitor; I never noticed in my hurry.”</p>
<p>“Mr. Gordon—” the coroner’s manner was
abrupt and stern—“do you see these pieces?”
He took up the sheet from the table. “They
are apparently torn from a letter of Mrs.
Trevor’s to you, making an appointment to see
you here on Wednesday night at eleven thirty.
These scraps were found in your overcoat
pocket. Again I ask, did Mrs. Trevor admit
you?”</p>
<p>Gordon glanced at the sheet and recognized
the handwriting. His mouth closed in a hard
line, and he grew perceptibly paler. He
straightened his broad shoulders, and faced
the jury squarely, saying:</p>
<p>“I refuse to incriminate myself.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span></p>
<p>In the dead silence the scratching of the
stenographer’s pen could be heard plainly.</p>
<p>“You may retire,” said the coroner.</p>
<p>With perfect self-possession, Gordon left the
room.</p>
<p>The coroner’s summing up of the case was
short and to the point. As soon as he finished,
the jury left the room to deliberate.</p>
<p>The hands of the ormolu clock on the mantel
had gone five times around its dial, but there
was no thinning out of the crowd. The majority
of the spectators had attended the inquest
out of friendship for the Trevors, others
had been brought there by morbid curiosity;
but none had expected such an outcome to the
investigation. Now, in silence and nervous
apprehension they waited for the return of the
jury. The tension was snapped by their reappearance.
The coroner rose and addressed
them.</p>
<p>“Gentlemen of the jury, have you reached
a verdict?”</p>
<p>“The jury find,” answered the foreman,
“that Mrs. Hélène de Beaupré Trevor came to
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span>her death on the night of Wednesday, February
3rd, 19—, in the City of Washington, District
of Columbia, from a wound inflicted by Lieutenant-Commander
Donald Gordon.”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII<br />
<span class="smaller">WHEELS WITHIN WHEELS</span></h2></div>
<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">T</span>ramp</span>, tramp, back and forth, back and
forth, went the restless footsteps. Would
she never tire? Would she never stop? Alfred
Clark bent lower until his eye was on a
level with the keyhole of the closed library
door. Suddenly the gong over the front door
rang loudly. With a smothered exclamation,
Clark glided quickly across the wide hall and
entered the private office just as Wilkins came
out of the dining-room.</p>
<p>“Good afternoon, Wilkins. Can I see
Miss Beatrice?” Peggy’s fresh young voice
sounded cheerily in Wilkins’ ears. During the
last week he had had a surfeit of horrors and
unmitigated gloom.</p>
<p>“Yes, Miss Margaret, she is expecting you.
Will you please walk into the drawing-room,
and I will tell her you have come.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span></p>
<p>Peggy had only time to straighten one refractory
curl which would trail down on her
forehead. It had been the cause of much
mental anguish in childish days because
everyone dinned into her ears, “There was a
little girl, and she had a little curl.” Consequently
she always took care to tuck that particular
lock carefully out of sight. As she
turned from the mirror, Beatrice came in
through the communicating doors leading to the
library.</p>
<p>“My dearest, how good it is to see you
again,” exclaimed Peggy, giving her a warm
kiss and hug.</p>
<p>“It is, indeed,” and Beatrice’s sad face
brightened, as she affectionately returned the
embrace.</p>
<p>“I have been here several times since the
funeral, Beatrice.”</p>
<p>“I know, dear, and it did my heart good to
know you were thinking of me. I feel so alone,
so utterly alone.” Beatrice stopped to control
her voice, and Peggy, with loving sympathy,
threw her arm about her shoulders.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span></p>
<p>They made a charming foil sitting side by
side on the divan, one so dark in her stately
beauty, the other so fair and winsome, their
faces seen first in shadow then in light as the
fickle wood fire flickered to and fro on the wide
hearth.</p>
<p>“There, I did not intend to allude to the terrible
happenings. Since the funeral, which
was private, I have tried not to let my mind
dwell on the tragedy. Otherwise I think I should
go mad. I cannot, cannot speak of it even to
you, dearest.” Her hands twitched spasmodically,
and she bit her lips to hide their trembling.
Regaining her composure by a desperate
effort, she signed to Wilkins to move the
tea table nearer the fire. “Two lumps and
lemon, Peggy?”</p>
<p>“Yes, please, and very weak.”</p>
<p>“It was dear of you to come out in this snow
storm.”</p>
<p>“Puf! I don’t care that for a storm.”
Peggy snapped her fingers derisively. “I
had been in all day and was longing for fresh
air when you telephoned me. And the walk up
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span>here did me no end of good. I always eat
too much at Granny’s lunches.”</p>
<p>“Tell me who were there?”</p>
<p>“Oh! just the Topic Club. One of the members
gave out at the eleventh hour, and Granny
asked me to take her place.”</p>
<p>“It must have been interesting,” ejaculated
Beatrice.</p>
<p>The Topic Club, composed of eleven witty
women, was a time-honored institution in the
Capital. It met once a month at the different
members’ houses. Each hostess was always
allowed to ask one of her friends to make the
twelfth guest, an invitation eagerly sought for.
The topic to be discussed was written on the
back of the place cards.</p>
<p>“What was the topic this time, Peggy?”</p>
<p>“‘What does a woman remember longest?’
May I have some more hot water, my tea is a
little too strong?”</p>
<p>“And what answer did they find for it?”
asked Beatrice, taking up the hot water kettle
as Peggy held out her cup.</p>
<p>“Why, they decided that no woman ever forgets<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span>
‘the man who has once loved her.’ My
gracious, Beatrice, look out!” as a few drops
of boiling water went splashing over her
fingers.</p>
<p>“Oh, Peggy, did I scald you?”</p>
<p>“Not very much,” groaned Peggy, putting
her injured finger in her mouth, that human
receptacle for all things—good and bad.</p>
<p>“I am so sorry, dear. Tell me, did you hear
anything exciting at luncheon?”</p>
<p>“Nothing in particular.” Peggy could not
tell her that the chief topic at the table had
been the Trevor murder, so she rattled on:
“People say that divorce proceedings are
pending in the Van Auken family. You know
their home is called ‘the house of a thousand
scandals.’ But the latest news is that Martha
Underhill’s engagement to Bobby Crane has
been broken off.”</p>
<p>“Why?” asked Beatrice, her curiosity excited.</p>
<p>“Well, they quarreled about Donald Gordon—”
Beatrice’s convulsive start brought
Peggy up short. As usual her thoughtless
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span>tongue had gotten her into hot water. To
hesitate would be but to make a bad matter
worse, so she went bravely on: “Bobby is
desperately jealous, and simply hates to have
Martha even look at any other man. So he
was simply raging when she told him she intended
dancing the last Bachelors’ with Mr.
Gordon, who is an old friend of hers. Bobby
was very nasty about it. Yesterday when we
were all walking up Connecticut Avenue from
St. John’s, Martha remarked how mortified she
had been at being left without a partner during
the first part of the cotillion.</p>
<p>“‘Serves you jolly well right,’ snapped
Bobby. ‘That’s what comes of dancing with
a murderer!’”</p>
<p>“Oh, the coward!” exclaimed Beatrice.
“The coward!”</p>
<p>“That’s what we all thought, and I left
Martha telling Bobby what she thought of him.
Result—the broken engagement. As to Mr.
Gordon, we all believe in his innocence,” declared
Peggy, stoutly.</p>
<p>“It is not the first time a Court of Justice
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span>has blundered,” agreed Beatrice, wearily, and
she brushed her soft hair off her hot forehead.</p>
<p>“The idea of suspecting Mr. Gordon,” went
on Peggy, heatedly. “He is so chivalrous; so
tender in his manner to all women! What
matter if he is a bit of a flirt—”</p>
<p>Beatrice moved uneasily in her chair.</p>
<p>“How is Mrs. Macallister?” she asked
abruptly.</p>
<p>“Very well, and enjoying herself immensely
at present. She is having an out and out row
with the Commissioners of the District. Major
Stone applied to them for permission to cut
an entrance to the alley through Granny’s rose
garden. My, she was mad!” and Peggy smiled
broadly at the recollection.</p>
<p>“I don’t wonder,” exclaimed Beatrice.
“Why, Peggy, it would be a perfect shame.
Mrs. Macallister’s garden is one of the beauties
of Washington.”</p>
<p>“It would be beastly. You see, Granny
owns nearly half the square between 19th and
20th on F Street. To prevent apartment
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span>houses going up, she wanted to buy the whole
block. But the owners, finding she wanted the
real estate, asked her an exorbitant price,
which Granny naturally refused to pay. Now,
I suppose to get back at her, old Major Stone
insists that the alley, which already has two
entrances, must have a third.</p>
<p>“So yesterday, Granny and I went to call
on Major Cochrane, the new Engineer Commissioner,
in the District Building. He didn’t
know us from Adam, and didn’t seem able to
get a clear idea of our errand. Finally, he
asked Granny:</p>
<p>“‘Do I understand you came here to get
an alley put through?’</p>
<p>“‘No,’ replied Granny, with her blandest
smile, ‘I came to get an ally.’ And she did,
too,” laughed Peggy. “Before we left she had
won him, body and soul, over to her cause.”</p>
<p>“I prophesy Mrs. Macallister wins. Must
you go, dear,” as Peggy started gathering her
wraps together.</p>
<p>“It’s getting late, and I am far, far from
home; besides which, I am dining with the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span>Van Winkles, and afterwards going to the
Charity Ball. So I have a busy night ahead
of me. But I hate to leave you, dearie, all by
yourself. Won’t you come down and visit us?
We’d love to have you. Indeed, it is not good
for you to stay shut up here by yourself—”
Peggy came to a breathless pause.</p>
<p>There were tears in Beatrice’s eyes as she
bent and kissed the soft, rosy cheek. What it
cost her to stay in that house, none would ever
know. She shook her head.</p>
<p>“It is like you to ask me, Peggy darling, but
I cannot leave Father. He needs me <i>now</i>.”</p>
<p>The slight emphasis was lost on Peggy, who
was busy adjusting her furs. With a searching
glance around the dimly lighted room,
Beatrice drew a small, flat box from her dainty
work bag, and going close to Peggy whispered:</p>
<p>“I am surrounded by prying eyes. You, and
you only, can I trust. In the name of our long
friendship, and for the sake of the old school
days I beg, I entreat you, Peggy, to take this
box and keep it for me!”</p>
<p>“Indeed I will!” Peggy’s whisper was reassuring<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span>
in its vehemence. “No one shall
ever see or know of it.” As she spoke, she
thrust it in her large muff. “Remember,
Beatrice, Granny and I are always your devoted,
loyal friends. Do not hesitate to let
us help you.”</p>
<p>Beatrice’s only answer was to fold Peggy
in a passionate embrace. Then, as the latter
left the room, she threw herself on the divan,
her slender form racked with sobs.</p>
<p>As Peggy crossed the square hall on her way
to the front door, she came face to face with
the Attorney General’s secretary. Alfred
Clark, who was putting on his overcoat, greeted
her effusively.</p>
<p>“Oh, good afternoon,” she replied, a trifle
coldly; for his obsequious manner always
grated on her.</p>
<p>“Can I see you home?” asked Clark, eagerly,
opening the front door as he spoke.</p>
<p>“You are very kind, but I am going to catch
the car at the corner, and I wouldn’t think of
taking you so far out of your way.”</p>
<p>“On the contrary, it is right in the direction<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span>
I am going,” rejoined Clark, helping
Peggy down the slippery steps. “I was so
sorry not to see you when I called last Sunday,”
he continued, as they turned to walk in
the direction of Connecticut Avenue. “I
thought you always stayed at home that day?”</p>
<p>“I usually do; but last Sunday I went down
to the station to see a friend off, so missed all
my callers. Gracious! there’s our car. Do
stop it.”</p>
<p>Obediently Clark ran ahead and signalled
the motorman to wait until Peggy could get
there. But once inside the car they had no
further chance for conversation, for Clark,
jostled by the crowd, was obliged to stand some
distance from Peggy, who had been given a
seat further up. On transferring to the G
Street herdic they found they had that antiquated
vehicle entirely to themselves.</p>
<p>“How do you think Miss Trevor is looking?”
inquired Clark, after he had stuffed the
transfers into the change box by the driver’s
seat.</p>
<p>“She seems utterly used up, poor dear,”
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span>answered Peggy, soberly. “I am afraid the
strain is telling on her more than she will admit.”</p>
<p>“You are right, Miss Macallister; and something
should be done about it.” Clark spoke
with so much feeling that she glanced at him
with deepened interest. “Her father is so absorbed
in his grief that he never notices his
daughter’s condition.”</p>
<p>“It is a shame,” agreed Peggy, “and yet,
not surprising. He was perfectly devoted to
Mrs. Trevor, and Senator Phillips says he is
heartbroken by her tragic death.”</p>
<p>“That is no excuse for neglecting the living.
Mr. Trevor owes much to his daughter’s
affection.” Peggy did not see the quickly
suppressed sneer that distorted Clark’s handsome
features. “Miss Trevor acts as if she
had something preying on her mind, don’t you
think so?”</p>
<p>Peggy clutched the box secreted so carefully
inside her muff in sudden panic. What did the
man’s insinuation mean?</p>
<p>“No,” she answered tartly. “I think her
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span>nervous, over-wrought condition is simply due
to the tragedy, and its attending mystery.”</p>
<p>“Mystery?” echoed Clark. “Why, all that
has been cleared up by Gordon’s arrest.”</p>
<p>“Indeed it has not,” indignantly declared
Peggy. “I don’t for a moment believe him
guilty. I think he is the victim of circumstantial
evidence.” Her rapid speech was interrupted
by their arrival at her street corner,
and she did not finish her sentence until they
stood in the vestibule of the Macallister mansion.
“In the first place, Mr. Clark,” she continued,
“where would you find a motive for
such a crime?”</p>
<p>“In Gordon’s past, Miss Macallister.”
And, as Hurley opened the front door, “Good
night; thanks so much for allowing me to escort
you home.”</p>
<p>He ran down the steps and walked rapidly
up the street before the astonished girl could
frame another sentence.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII<br />
<span class="smaller">THE CHALLENGE</span></h2></div>
<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">J</span>ust</span> before midnight the Charity Ball,
given annually for the benefit of the
Children’s Hospital, was at its height. The
long ballroom at the New Willard was almost
too crowded for comfort, at least so thought
the dancing contingent.</p>
<p>“Come on over here out of the crowd,
Peggy,” and Dick Tillinghast pointed to one
of the deep window recesses. It looked cool
and comfortable after the heat of the room,
and with a sigh of relief Peggy sank back in
its kindly shelter. She was beginning to feel
weary, having danced every encore and extra.</p>
<p>“Now, I call this jolly,” went on Dick, fanning
her vigorously. “Peggy—you wretch—you
have been flirting outrageously with little
de Morny all the evening.”</p>
<p>“The Count is very agreeable,” answered
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span>Peggy, demurely. “Besides, I was giving him
lessons in English.”</p>
<p>Dick snorted. “<i>You</i> may call it what you
like; but the Count is in dead earnest.”</p>
<p>“Really, Mr. Tillinghast—” Peggy’s head
went up. Dick, seeing the light of combat in
her eyes, hastened to interrupt her.</p>
<p>“Now, Peggy—please. You’ve been perfectly
beastly to me all the evening; never even
saved me a dance, and I had to steal this one.”</p>
<p>“It is customary to ask for them,”
frigidly.</p>
<p>“It wasn’t my fault. I was detained at the
office, as you know perfectly well. It wasn’t
kind, Peggy, indeed it wasn’t.”</p>
<p>Dick’s voice expressed more bitterness than
the occasion warranted. Swiftly Peggy’s kind
heart relented.</p>
<p>“I didn’t keep a dance, Dick, because,” she
lowered her voice, “I—I—thought you would
prefer to take me out to supper.”</p>
<p>“You darling!” Dick leaned impulsively
nearer; then cursed inwardly as Tom Blake’s
stout form stopped before them.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span></p>
<p>“Well, you two look very ‘comfy’; may I
join you?” The chair, which Peggy pushed
toward him creaked under his weight. “This
is a bully alcove; you are in the crowd and yet
not of it. Hello, de Morny, come and sit with
us. Miss Macallister was just asking for you,”
and he winked at Dick.</p>
<p>De Morny was walking past, vainly searching
for Peggy, and he accepted the invitation
with alacrity. He had met her early in the
season. Her sunny disposition and fascinating
personality had made instant appeal to
the Frenchman’s volatile nature. Wherever
Peggy went, de Morny was sure to follow,
much to Dick’s silent fury.</p>
<p>Their mutual friends had not been slow to
grasp the situation, and many were the conjectures
as to which man would win the little
flirt, and, incidentally, the Macallister millions.
The money consideration did not enter
altogether into de Morny’s calculations, for
contrary to the usual order of things, he was
wealthy. Belonging to the old nobility of
France, he was a most desirable <i>parti</i>, and had
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span>often been relentlessly pursued by mothers with
marriageable daughters on their hands.</p>
<p>But many times Dick cursed Peggy’s prospective
inheritance. Without a penny except
his salary, it was bitter indeed to the proud
fellow to feel that he was looked upon as a fortune
hunter. They had been boy and girl
sweethearts when their parents had lived next
door to each other until the crash came. His
father gave up home and personal belongings
to meet his creditors, dying shortly after, and
Dick had been thrown on his own resources
during his freshman year at Harvard. It was
simply another case of from shirt sleeves to
shirt sleeves in three generations, no uncommon
occurrence in America.</p>
<p>“Mademoiselle,” said the Frenchman, bowing
before Peggy, “have I zer permission to
present to you <i>mon ami</i>, Count de Smirnoff.”
He beckoned to a tall stranger who had stopped
just outside the alcove when de Morny joined
the little group. “And to you, also, Monsieur
Blake, and Monsieur Tillinghast.”</p>
<p>Count de Smirnoff acknowledged the introductions<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span>
most courteously, and then, to Dick’s
secret annoyance, promptly appropriated the
chair nearest Peggy and devoted himself to
her.</p>
<p>“Will you look at Mrs. Wheeler,” whispered
Tom Blake to his companions. “Solomon in
all his glory couldn’t touch her.”</p>
<p>Mrs. Wheeler was dazzling to behold.
Dressed in scarlet and gold, with diamonds in
front of her, diamonds on top of her, she easily
out-diamonded every woman present. The
crowd parted to make way for her as she
moved slowly, very slowly up the long room.
With the Vice-President on one side of her and
the British Ambassador on the other, the apotheosis
of the house of Wheeler was reached.</p>
<p>Dick drew a long breath after they had
passed. “My eyes actually hurt from such
illumination. Why, oh, why does Washington
accept such people?”</p>
<p>“Because she possesses the Golden Key
which unlocks most doors in democratic America,”
answered Tom, dryly. “She wined and
dined herself into our midst, and now—” he
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span>paused dramatically—“she draws the line on
the Army and Navy people here, because her
calling list is already so large!”</p>
<p>“How’s poor Gordon?” he asked, suddenly,
a few minutes later.</p>
<p>“He refuses to see anyone, or talk,” answered
Dick.</p>
<p>“Poor devil! What made him do such a mad
action?”</p>
<p>“I don’t believe he is guilty,” said Dick,
slowly. “He isn’t that sort. He wouldn’t
kill a man in cold blood, let alone strike a
woman.”</p>
<p>“I agree with you, Dick. There has been
some dreadful mistake,” chimed in Peggy.</p>
<p>“Is it the Trevor murder of which you
speak?” asked de Smirnoff. He spoke English
perfectly, but for a slight accent.</p>
<p>“Yes, Monsieur. Even the District Attorney
thinks someone has blundered; he is furious
because the coroner’s jury brought in that
verdict against Gordon.”</p>
<p>“Oh, well, he’ll have a chance to clear himself
before the Grand Jury two weeks from now.
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span>After all, Dick, he virtually admitted he was
guilty.”</p>
<p>“I don’t see it that way,” answered Dick,
obstinately.</p>
<p>“Well, I hope he can prove an alibi. But if
he does it will go hard with Beatrice Trevor.
Suspicion already points to her.”</p>
<p>“Oh! no, no!” cried Peggy, in horror, and
she looked appealingly at Dick.</p>
<p>“I’m afraid so,” he said, sorrowfully, answering
her unspoken thought. “You see, it’s
very obvious that she has some secret to conceal.”</p>
<p>Peggy actually jumped as her mind flew to
the box which was at that moment safely
hidden in the secret drawer of her bureau.
Beatrice guilty—never—never—she put the
thought from her, but it would return.</p>
<p>“You mustn’t say such things,” she said,
angry with herself for her disloyal thoughts,
and her face paled perceptibly.</p>
<p>“I am sorry I spoke in that way,” replied
Dick. “I had forgotten for the moment that
she is your greatest friend. Indeed, Peggy,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span>I meant no offense. You know I would do anything
for you, anything.”</p>
<p>“So would we all, Miss Peggy,” exclaimed
Tom, and de Morny, but half understanding
the rapidly spoken English, nodded his head
back and forth like a china mandarin.</p>
<p>“Then,” said Peggy, “find the real murderer
of Mrs. Trevor. That,” loyally, “would clear
my friends from suspicion. And I will give
you”—unconsciously her eyes sought Dick’s
and the look in them made his heart throb with
hope; then she glanced quickly at Count de
Morny, and his heart sank with sickening dread—“unto
the half of my kingdom.”</p>
<p>“I accept the challenge,” he said, gravely,
and he raised her hand to his lips; while Tom,
in a few sentences, explained the wager to the
two foreigners.</p>
<p>“To find ze murderer? But ze police have
done zat, Mademoiselle,” de Morny ejaculated.</p>
<p>“No, no; they have only arrested a man on
suspicion. Miss Peggy thinks the murderer is
still at large.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span></p>
<p>“As Mademoiselle sinks, so sinks I,” answered
the Count gallantly.</p>
<p>“It appears to me that the police acted with
great discretion,” said de Smirnoff, who had
been an interested listener. “But they do not
make the most of their opportunities.”</p>
<p>“In what way, Count?” asked Dick.</p>
<p>“In regard to the burglar, Monsieur. Since
my arrival here I have read with deep interest
all the newspaper accounts of the tragedy.
Frankly, I had not expected to find such a
<i>cause celebre</i> in the Capital of this great country.
It occurs to me that the burglar has not
told all he knows.”</p>
<p>“Since telling his story at the inquest he refuses
to talk.”</p>
<p>De Smirnoff shrugged his shoulders. “In
my country he would be made to talk. The
secret police of Russia, Monsieur, can extract
information from the most unwilling of witnesses.”</p>
<p>“You really think Nelson is keeping something
back?” asked Tom, incredulously.
“Why, the poor devil is only too anxious to
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span>clear himself. Surely, if he knew he would not
hesitate to tell the whole truth?”</p>
<p>“It is difficult to say, Monsieur. He may
have been bribed to hold his tongue; money can
do much these days. Again, fear of the murderer
may force him to silence.”</p>
<p>“That’s true, too; yet fear of the gallows
would make most people talk.”</p>
<p>“Ah, but he does not stand in very much danger
there, for has not another man already
been arrested, charged with the crime? No,
no, depend upon it, he is holding something
back.”</p>
<p>“What, for instance?” inquired Dick,
eagerly.</p>
<p>“The weapon,” suggested de Smirnoff. “It
is quite within the possible that he found it.
According to his testimony, he was the first to
find the body. Now, he may be keeping back
this information so as to be able to blackmail
the murderer when his sentence for house-breaking
is over. Apparently, he is a clever
crook, and undoubtedly knows how best to look
after his own interests.”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX<br />
<span class="smaller">“MAIN 6”</span></h2></div>
<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">B</span>uzz</span>—buzz—sounded the alarm. Dick
stirred, shivered slightly, and sat up.</p>
<p>“May the devil fly away with you!” he muttered,
addressing the clock. “I wish to thunder
I could go to bed as sleepy as I wake up,”
stretching himself, and vividly recollecting how
many hours he had lain awake thinking of
Peggy. His thoughts turned quickly to her
challenge; with a bound he was out of bed; no
time for loitering now—too much was at stake.</p>
<p>Some hours later Dick was staring moodily
at the snow and slush in front of the District
building on Pennsylvania Avenue. So far, he
had been unsuccessful. Gordon had refused to
be interviewed by him, now he was in search
of Detective Hardy. Muttering uncomplimentary
remarks about the offenders who allowed
the streets in Washington to get in such a fearful<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span>
condition, he waded ankle deep through the
melting snow to the sidewalk, and almost into
the arms of the very man he was looking for.</p>
<p>“Hello, Mr. Tillinghast, how are you?” exclaimed
Hardy, recovering his balance as he
slipped on the icy pavement. “What brings
you down to these diggings?”</p>
<p>“You,” answered Dick, briefly. “I’m assigned
to cover the Trevor murder, as you
know, and I’m looking for more material.”</p>
<p>“Gwan,” chuckled Hardy. “Your paper
has already spread itself some on that line. In
fact, it’s said just a leetle too much,” remembering
the furore Gordon’s arrest had made,
and the attendant abuse heaped on the detective
force for not making more headway with the
case.</p>
<p>“Pshaw! Hardy, you know the paper has to
cater to the public, and Washington has gone
wild over the murder. I’ve had to write
columns and give ’em all sorts of theories, but
none hold water.”</p>
<p>“’Course not. We’ve got the guilty man
under lock and key.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span></p>
<p>“Hum! Found the weapon yet?”</p>
<p>A look of chagrin crossed Hardy’s face.
“Naw, damn it!” he growled. “Mr. Gordon
sure hid it safely; threw it down an open street
sewer most likely.”</p>
<p>“How about Nelson?”</p>
<p>“Nelson? Oh! he’s doing time for house-breaking;
so we’ve got him dead to rights if
we find he’s wanted for the murder. Sorry,
sir,” glancing as he spoke at the clock over the
City Post Office, “but I’ve got to beat it quick.”
Then, lowering his voice, “I’ve a bit of news
which may surprise some folks. Come round
in a day or two and I’ll let you in on it.”</p>
<p>“Here, wait,” shouted Dick, making a futile
dive for Hardy’s coat as he swung himself
aboard a south-bound car.</p>
<p>“What are you wasting so much energy for,
Dick?” asked a hearty voice at his elbow.
Dick swung around with a jump.</p>
<p>“Why, where in —— did you drop from?” he
gasped, hardly able to credit his senses as the
newcomer seized his hand and wrung it vigorously.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span></p>
<p>“Just arrived via Panama,” explained General
Long. “Let’s get on the sidewalk, Dick.
I didn’t come to Washington to be knocked
down by a dray horse,” and he dragged his still
bewildered friend to the curb. “Come into the
Willard and lunch with me. I’m half dead
with hunger.”</p>
<p>“Now,” said Dick, after they had done justice
to the Martinis, “give an account of yourself,
past, present and future.”</p>
<p>“Past—Philippines; present—here; future—God
knows!” General Long sighed as he
helped Dick and himself to the tempting dish in
front of him. “It’s good to taste Christian
cooking once again. Don’t insult good food by
hurrying too much, Dick; take your time. At
present I’ve come here on waiting orders.”</p>
<p>Dick inwardly wondered what necessity had
induced the War Department to send for
Chester Long. A man of exceptional executive
ability and personal bravery, he had been rapidly
advanced over the heads of older officers, to
their unspeakable rage, until finally he had
been appointed second in command in the Philippines.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span>
He had made a record for himself
out there, and Dick was astounded that his recall
should have been kept so profound a secret.</p>
<p>“How did you slip away without the papers
getting on?” he asked.</p>
<p>“Orders from the Department hushed things
up pretty well, and then I traveled incog. The
why and the wherefore, I may—guess—” he
smiled quietly. “Now, Dick, give an account
of yourself.”</p>
<p>It did not take long in the telling, as the two
friends had never completely lost sight of each
other, and mutual friends had kept them in
touch with their doings. General Long was
Dick’s senior by some fifteen years, but since
the days of the Spanish war in Cuba, where
Dick was sent as war correspondent, they had
been sworn allies.</p>
<p>“I’m dreadfully shocked about the Trevor
murder,” said Long, after Dick had finished
speaking of himself. “The papers are filled
with it. Gordon is the last person I’d think
capable of so dastardly a crime. While at
Annapolis, where he was a three-striper, he was
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span>voted the most popular man, and the one most
likely to succeed. He never lied, and he never
went back on a friend. Since his graduation
his record in the Service has been fine, fine.
And now, to have such a charge against him!
How have the mighty fallen! Poor Gordon—poor
devil!”</p>
<p>“Things look pretty black for him,” admitted
Dick. “But still the evidence is not absolutely
conclusive, simply circumstantial.”</p>
<p>“In what way?”</p>
<p>“In the first place no weapon has been found
in his possession. Secondly, the absolute lack
of motive.”</p>
<p>Long twirled his wine glass about in his
fingers.</p>
<p>“Is there none?” he asked, finally.</p>
<p>“Apparently none. After years of absence
Gordon came to Washington on receiving his
appointment as aide to the President one month
ago. He never went to the Trevors much. In
fact, he and Mrs. Trevor were total strangers.
They met first at a theater party I gave, which
Mrs. Trevor chaperoned, on the night of Gordon’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span>
arrival in town. You know he and I went
to Lawrenceville together.”</p>
<p>Long glanced around the half empty café;
their table was in the farther corner, and their
waiter had departed after removing the dessert
and putting the liqueur and coffee before them.
There was no chance of their conversation being
overheard, but Long motioned to Dick to
pull his chair closer, as he said in a low
voice:</p>
<p>“I’ve always had great respect for your discretion,
Dick; therefore, I’m going to confide in
you. You can use your judgment about speaking
of what I tell you now.</p>
<p>“Some four years ago or more, I was military
attaché at the Court of St. James. One
day I ran across Don Gordon in Hyde Park.
He told me he was there on leave visiting his
sister, Lady Dorchester. I didn’t see much of
him because his entire time was taken up with
paying desperate attention to—Hélène de
Beaupré.”</p>
<p>“What!” shouted Dick, starting up in his intense
surprise.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span></p>
<p>“Hush, man,” said Long, sternly. “You are
attracting attention.” Dick, much abashed,
subsided into his chair. “I can swear to what
I am saying, because at that time Hélène de
Beaupré was the rage in London. Men and
women raved about her, and she was received
everywhere. Gordon lost his head over her, he
was madly infatuated with her beauty; whether
his affection was returned, I know not.” Long
shrugged his shoulders.</p>
<p>“Just about that time I was relieved from
duty in London, and in the rush of departure
forgot all about Gordon and his affairs. But
one day on shipboard Alfred Clark told me that
he had seen Gordon and Hélène de Beaupré
applying at the Home Office for a special license
to marry at once.”</p>
<p>Dick looked at his friend too dazed to speak.
“Well, I’ll be damned!” he muttered.</p>
<p>For a few minutes they sat regarding each
other in puzzled silence. Then Dick roused
himself to ask: “Is the Alfred Clark of whom
you speak the man who is now secretary to the
Attorney General?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span></p>
<p>“Is he tall, well-built, handsome, with a peculiar
scar on his temple?”</p>
<p>“You have described the man to a dot.
Looks like a Gypsy?” Long nodded in acquiescence.
“He goes out here a great deal;
sort of insinuates himself into people’s good
graces. I never liked him—too much of a
beauty man to suit me. What was he doing in
England?”</p>
<p>“He stopped there from Italy on his way to
the States. At that time his father had plenty
of money, and Alfred did nothing but travel
about at his own sweet will. The crash came
just afterwards, and then he had to get to
work.”</p>
<p>“It must have been a bitter pill for him to
swallow, poor devil. I’ve gone through a somewhat
similar experience,” and Dick sighed
sympathetically. “Strange that Mrs. Trevor,
Gordon and Clark should all be here at the same
time!”</p>
<p>“Fate plays strange tricks,” agreed Long.
“I heard nothing further about these three people
until I read of the Trevor tragedy. How
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span>did Gordon and Mrs. Trevor look, Dick, when
you introduced them?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” confessed Dick. “Gordon
didn’t appear until about the middle of the
first act; the box was in semi-darkness. I
introduced him to all my friends as he was
the stranger, and I remember hearing Mrs.
Trevor say she was ‘delighted to meet him.’
I took it for granted she didn’t know
him.”</p>
<p>Long shook his head. “It’s a black business,
Dick, whichever way you look at it. If she
jilted Gordon and married Trevor, it might be
a reason for the crime; or if Gordon really married
her first, then there is a still greater motive
for the murder.”</p>
<p>“Bigamy?” ejaculated Dick.</p>
<p>“Perhaps. Gordon is poor—Trevor rich;
apparently the balance dipped in the latter’s
favor. It is not the first time souls have been
bought and honor lost by the desire for filthy
lucre. Mind you, Dick, this last is all surmise.
I may be entirely wrong. You can use the information
I have given you if you think best;
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span>and I’ll be here if you want to consult me about
it.”</p>
<p>“Which way are you going?” asked Dick.</p>
<p>“To the War Department, and you—?”</p>
<p>“To the office. I’ll drop in and see you
sometime to-morrow. It’s bully having you
back again, old man. So long,” and with a
parting hand shake the two friends parted.</p>
<p>Dick was very tired when he reached his
home in Georgetown that night. His landlady
heard his key turn in the lock and came out in
the hall to meet him.</p>
<p>Mrs. Brisbane, “befo’ de wah,” had not
known what it was to put on her own silk stockings;
now, she took “paying guests.” Her
husband and brothers had died for “The
Cause”; her property near Charleston, South
Carolina, had been totally destroyed during the
horrors of the Reconstruction period. She
had come to Washington, that Mecca for unemployed
gentlewomen, in hopes of adding to
her slender income. For years she had been
employed in the Post Office Department, as a
handwriting expert. Then suddenly her eyesight<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span>
failed her; and broken in health and
hopes, she and her young granddaughter kept
the wolf from the door and a roof over their
heads as best they could.</p>
<p>Dick was devoted to Mrs. Brisbane. Her
gentle dignity and indomitable pluck in the face
of every misfortune had won his admiration
and respect. He had lived with them for over
three years, and was looked upon as one of the
family.</p>
<p>“You are late, Dick,” she said. “Have you
had a busy day?”</p>
<p>“Yes, Mrs. Brisbane,” he answered, “and
I’m dog tired, having been on the dead jump
ever since I left here this morning.”</p>
<p>“Not too tired to come into the dining-room
and help us celebrate my seventieth birthday,
I hope?”</p>
<p>Dick looked reproachfully at her. “And you
never told me! I don’t think that’s fair. Am
I not one of the family? Yes— Then I claim
a relative’s privilege.”</p>
<p>Mrs. Brisbane beamed upon him. “You extravagant
boy! That’s just why I did not tell
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span>you. I hope you are not too exhausted to enjoy
a glass of eggnog?”</p>
<p>“What a question! You know I would walk
miles to get a taste of your eggnog. There’s
nothing like it, this side of Heaven.”</p>
<p>“Heaven is not usually associated with eggnog,”
laughed Nancy Pelham, a pretty young
girl of sixteen. “And Granny’s brew is apt
to lead one in the opposite direction.”</p>
<p>“Tut! Child. As Pa once said, eggnog was
invented especially for God’s po’ creatures in
their moments of tribulation. It puts new
heart in most everyone, even a po’ Yankee.”</p>
<p>Dick laughed. “You are a pretty good
hater, Mrs. Brisbane,” he said, helping himself
to the frothy beverage.</p>
<p>“I reckon I’ve got cause.” Mrs. Brisbane’s
drawl was delicious. “An’ I’m from Charleston,
Dick, don’t forget that. Why, one of my
nieces never knew until she got to New York
that ‘damn Yankee’ was two words.”</p>
<p>“Granny, Granny,” remonstrated Nancy.
“Dick’s a good Northerner by birth, and we
mustn’t wave the bloody shirt.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span></p>
<p>“Nonsense,” said Dick, hastily. “I love to
fight our battles over with Mrs. Brisbane.
What a beautiful punch bowl that is?” he
added, enthusiastically.</p>
<p>“Isn’t it? It was given to Granny’s father,
General Pinckney, by Mr. Calhoun.”</p>
<p>“It is the only piece of silver saved from the
wreck,” said Mrs. Brisbane, sadly. “I could
not part with it for old associations’ sake.
Everything else of value, silver and jewelry,
was sold long ago. How many distinguished
men have drunk out of that bowl!” she sighed
involuntarily. “Heigh oh! It is not good to
reminisce. But I’ll never forget, Dick, one
dinner I attended here.</p>
<p>“It was before I secured my place in the Post
Office, and I was visiting some Washington
friends. They took me to a dinner given by
Mr. and Mrs. John Thompson, who were new-comers.
They had struck ‘ile’ and were entertaining
lavishly that winter. Imagine my feelings
when I saw them using my entire silver
service, even to the small silver!</p>
<p>“I recognized our coat-of-arms, as well as the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span>pattern of the silver. They passed it off as
family heirlooms! I found out later that they
had spent months collecting the pieces from
different second-hand dealers in antiques. I
would not have minded so much if they had not
been so palpably nouveaux riches. It seemed
a sacrilege! Why, they hardly knew the uses
of some of the pieces.”</p>
<p>Dick leaned over and patted her hand sympathetically.</p>
<p>“‘Heaven sends almonds to those who have
no teeth,’” he quoted. “Now, I wonder if you
can tell me anything about Texas?” he added,
suddenly.</p>
<p>“Texas!” exclaimed Mrs. Brisbane. “Not
much; I’ve never been there myself, but I have
been told that only men and mules can live in
that State. The climate usually kills all the
women.”</p>
<p>“It isn’t Texas in general I am interested
in,” chuckled Dick, “but the Gordons.”</p>
<p>“The Gordons are Georgians, Dick.”</p>
<p>“Not Donald Gordon, he was born in Texas.”</p>
<p>“Now, I do recollect that Major Gordon
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span>moved to Texas just after the wah. I believe
he married a Galveston woman; and then went
into politics.”</p>
<p>“Whatever the cause,” said Dick, his eyes
twinkling, “he represented Texas in the Senate
for years; finally died in Washington, and is
interred in the Congressional Burying Ground
here. Now, Mrs. Brisbane, can you tell me
anything about them?”</p>
<p>“Not a thing, Dick, except that Senator Gordon
was a man of very high temper; he nearly
killed a soldier once for disobeying orders.
Why do you ask?”</p>
<p>“I know,” broke in Nancy. She had been an
interested listener, and had also seen that
Dick’s glass was never empty. “It has something
to do with the Trevor murder.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” acknowledged Dick, gravely. “I am
doing my best to prove Gordon’s innocence;
and, hang it all! every shred of evidence I turn
up, is against him.”</p>
<p>“It was a shocking murder of a defenseless
woman. I do not believe a Gordon could have
done it,” declared Mrs. Brisbane.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span></p>
<p>“And yet—”</p>
<p>“Listen to me a moment, Dick,” Nancy
tapped the table in her earnestness. “Perhaps
I can help you. That Wednesday was my night
shift at the North Exchange.” Nancy was
temporarily working as a central in the Chesapeake
and Potomac Telephone Company until
she had taken her Civil Service examination for
a Government position. “Well, about fifteen
minutes after two that morning a call came for
the Trevors’ house.”</p>
<p>“What? Really?”</p>
<p>“Yes. I don’t mean the regular house telephone,
but for the Attorney General’s private
wire in his private office.”</p>
<p>“What!” Dick’s voice grew in volume as
his astonishment increased. “Are you sure,
Nancy?”</p>
<p>“Absolutely positive. You know the number
of the telephone in the Attorney General’s
private office at his home is not listed in the regular
book, as is his house wire. His private telephone
is ‘North—123’; I remember it because
it is so easy; and the other is ‘North—6795.’”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span></p>
<p>“But as to the time, Nancy?”</p>
<p>“I am certain about that, too. It was very
quiet in the Exchange, and when the call came
I nearly jumped out of my skin. I looked at
the big wall clock directly opposite, and I saw
it was fifteen minutes past two.”</p>
<p>“Nancy, you are a wonder—a brick. But
why didn’t you come forward and give your
evidence at the inquest?”</p>
<p>“Oh, I couldn’t, Dick,” the young girl colored
painfully. “I went to work at the Exchange
because we are so frightfully poor; but I—I—just
couldn’t face the notoriety which I feared
I would be dragged into. Then again, it might
not have anything to do with the terrible
affair.”</p>
<p>“Do?” echoed Dick; his tone was eloquent.
“Was the telephone answered?”</p>
<p>“Yes, at once.”</p>
<p>“Now, do you happen to know where the call
came from?”</p>
<p>“Yes. It was—‘Main 6.’”</p>
<p>Dick gazed at her too spellbound for words.</p>
<p><i>Main 6—The White House!</i></p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X<br />
<span class="smaller">CAUGHT ON THE WIRES</span></h2></div>
<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">D</span>ick</span> was up betimes the next morning,
stopping only long enough to swallow a
cup of coffee and a plate of oatmeal. Then
calling a cheery good-by to Mrs. Brisbane, he
banged out of the front door and down the steps
in such haste that he collided violently with
“Uncle” Andy Jackson, the Brisbane factotum,
who was busy shoveling the snow off the
steps.</p>
<p>“Laws, Marse Dick,” groaned Uncle Andy,
picking himself up carefully. “’Pears like yo’
am in a hurry.”</p>
<p>“Awfully sorry, Uncle,” said Dick, helping
the old man to his feet. “Here,” thrusting
some loose change into the ready palm, “buy
some liniment for the bruises. Whew! I
didn’t realize it snowed so much last night.”</p>
<p>As far as the eye could see the large, old-fashioned<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span>
gardens, which surround the old
houses in Georgetown, were covered with banks
of snow, an unusual sight in the Capital City.
In some places the drifts were waist high.</p>
<p>“Plenty mo’ snow fo’ ole Andy to shovel,”
grumbled the old man, who dearly loved the
sound of his own voice, and seized every opportunity
to talk to Dick, whom he especially admired
because he belonged to “de quality.”
“’Pears like de sky am a-tryin’ ter whitewash
dis hyer wicked city. Las’ night, sah, I went
to hear de Reverend Jedediah Hamilton. He
sho’ am a powerful preacher. He says Satan
am a-knocking at de gates ob Washington; dat
it am a whitened sepulcher; an’ dat we all am
a-gwine ter perdition. Hadn’t yo’ better git
religion, Marse Dick?”</p>
<p>“Oh, I’m not worrying just now, Uncle.
You see, my brother John is a minister of the
Gospel, and I guess he’ll intercede for me.”</p>
<p>“’Twon’t do, Marse Dick; de Good Book it
say: ‘Every man shall bear his own burden
and every tongue shall stand on its own bottom.’”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span></p>
<p>Dick waved his hand in farewell as he
plunged through the drifts to cross the street.
Uncle Andy watched the tall, athletic figure out
of sight; then shook his head solemnly.</p>
<p>“’Pears like Marse Dick am pas’ prayin’
fo’,” he muttered. Then, hearing Mrs. Brisbane’s
frantic calls for him, he shouted:
“Comin’, ole Miss, comin’.”</p>
<p>The street cars were blocked by the heavy
fall of snow, so Dick had to walk from Georgetown
to the <i>Star</i> Building, a distance of nearly
two miles, consequently he was late. But
after the first rush of work was over, he stole
a moment to call up the White House, and asked
the names of the night watchmen who were on
duty in the Executive Offices on that fatal
Wednesday.</p>
<p>“Wait a moment,” answered the White
House central, “and I’ll find out. Hello—the
men were Charlie Flynn and Tom Murray.”</p>
<p>“Much obliged,” called Dick, as he rang off.
Luck was certainly with him at last. He had
greatly feared that he would not get any information
in regard to the mysterious telephone<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span>
call without a great deal of difficulty and
delay, for “mum” was the word with all the
White House employés.</p>
<p>But Tom Murray had been General Long’s
orderly during the campaign in Cuba, and, in
fact, owed his present position to the General’s
influence. Dick knew where he lived, as Tom
had married Peggy Macallister’s maid, Betty;
and once when Betty was ill with typhoid fever,
Peggy had asked Dick to go with her to Tom’s
modest home on Capitol Hill.</p>
<p>Dick hurriedly covered his first assignment,
rushed back to the office in time to get his story
in the afternoon paper, then tore out again and
jumped aboard a Navy Yard car. Twenty minutes
later he was beating a hasty tattoo on the
Murrays’ front door. Tom himself admitted
him.</p>
<p>“Why, Mr. Tillinghast, sir! I’m mighty
glad to see you. Won’t you come in?”</p>
<p>Dick stepped into the tiny parlor. “I’ve
just stopped by for a moment, Tom. Thought
you’d like to know that General Long is in
town.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span></p>
<p>Tom fell back a step in his astonishment.</p>
<p>“Glory be,” he shouted. “Where is he stopping,
sir. That is, if he cares to see me?”</p>
<p>“At the New Willard. He wants to see you
to-night.”</p>
<p>Tom’s face fell. “I can’t go, at least not to-night,
sir. You see, I’m on night duty at the
White House now, sir. I get off at six every
morning and sleep until noon. I’m just up
now, sir. Do you think the General could see
me in the afternoon?”</p>
<p>“Sure; I’ll ask him. By the way, Tom, who
answers the White House telephones at
night?”</p>
<p>“I do, sir; leastways, I attend to the switch-board
in the Executive Offices.”</p>
<p>“Do you happen to recollect what person in
the White House called up ‘North—123’ on
February third, or rather February fourth, at
two fifteen in the morning?”</p>
<p>Tom looked searchingly at his questioner.</p>
<p>“Ought I to answer that question, sir?”</p>
<p>“I think you should. General Long sent me
here to ask you.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span></p>
<p>“May the good Lord forgive me,” thought
Dick, “I know Cheater will back me up.”</p>
<p>Tom’s face cleared. “Then it’s all right,
sir. I hesitated to answer you, sir, because—the
call came from the President himself.”</p>
<p>For a moment Dick was too aghast to speak.
The President! Truly, his investigations were
leading him into deep water.</p>
<p>“Are you quite sure, Tom?” he asked,
soberly.</p>
<p>“Quite, sir,” with military precision. “I
remember the night perfectly, sir. While the
White House is often called up at all hours, it
ain’t usual for inmates of the household to ring
up outside calls after midnight.”</p>
<p>“Had you any trouble getting your party?”</p>
<p>“No, sir. Central was rather slow about answering,
but that was the only delay.”</p>
<p>“Thanks, Tom, you’ve helped General Long
a lot by telling me all this. Go and see him
about six to-night on your way to the White
House. You will probably catch him then. Is
your wife well?”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir, thank you. Please tell the General<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span>
I will be at the hotel without fail. Good-by,
sir.”</p>
<p>When Dick had departed, Tom walked into
his kitchen with a grave face.</p>
<p>“I’m afraid, Betty, I talked too freely with
Mr. Tillinghast.”</p>
<p>“Nonsense,” snapped Betty, whose temper
was apt to get peppery when she worked over
a hot fire. “Master Dick isn’t the sort to get
us into trouble.” And that ended the discussion.</p>
<p>Dick plodded along the streets too absorbed
in thought to notice the snow and ice. Should
he, or should he not? Well, he would try anyway,
so quickening his steps he hastened over
to the Congressional Library and entered one
of the pay-station telephone booths in the building.</p>
<p>“What number, please?” asked Central.</p>
<p>“Main 6.” A few minutes’ wait.</p>
<p>“Drop in your nickel, there’s your party.”</p>
<p>“Hello, White House, I want to speak to
Secretary Burton—Hello, Burton, that you?
This is Dick Tillinghast talking.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span></p>
<p>“Well, Dick, how are you?”</p>
<p>“Oh, so-so. Say, Burton, do you think the
President would see me alone for a few minutes?”
Dick heard Burton whistle. “I know
he is fearfully busy with the arrival of the
Grand Duke Sergius, but I swear it’s important—a
matter of life and death.”</p>
<p>Burton detected the earnest note in Dick’s
voice, and was convinced.</p>
<p>“Hold the wire, old man.”</p>
<p>Dick waited impatiently. So much depended
on the answer.</p>
<p>“Hello, Central, don’t cut me off—Burton,
that you?”</p>
<p>“Yes. The President says he will see you
at ten minutes of five, <i>sharp</i>.”</p>
<p>“Burton, you are a trump. By-by.”</p>
<p>Prompt to the minute, Dick appeared in the
waiting room of the Executive Offices. Burton
came to the door and beckoned to him.</p>
<p>“In with you,” he whispered. “I sincerely
hope your news is of sufficient importance to
excuse my sending you in ahead of two irate
senators,” and he gave Dick’s broad shoulders
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span>an encouraging pat, as the door swung open to
admit him to the private office.</p>
<p>Dick had been frequently thrown with the
President, having been one of the reporters detailed
to accompany him when he toured the
country before his election, but he never entered
his presence without feeling the force
and personality of the great American, who,
with unerring hand, was steering the Ship of
State through such turbulent waters.</p>
<p>The President straightened his tall, wiry
form as Dick advanced to greet him. His
large dark eyes, set deep under shaggy eyebrows,
gazed rather blankly at Dick for a moment,
then lighted with recognition as they
shook hands.</p>
<p>“How are you, Mr. Tillinghast? Sit down
here.” The President pointed to a large arm
chair close beside his desk, then he glanced at
the clock. “Burton said you wished to see me
alone about a matter of life and death.”</p>
<p>“Well, yes, Mr. President; I put it that way
to attract Burton’s attention.” Then, seeing
a frown gathering on the rugged, heavily lined
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span>face, he hastened to add: “I came to see you
about the Trevor murder.”</p>
<p>There was no mistaking the President’s
genuine start of surprise.</p>
<p>“To see me! Why?”</p>
<p>“I wanted to ask you, sir, who it was answered
the telephone when you called up the
Attorney General’s private office on Thursday
morning at two fifteen o’clock?”</p>
<p>The President leaned thoughtfully back in
his chair and regarded Dick intently. Apparently
what he saw in his appearance pleased
him, for after a prolonged scrutiny, which
Dick bore with what equanimity he could, he
reached over and touched his desk bell.</p>
<p>“Is Secretary Bowers still in the White
House?” he asked the attendant who answered
his summons.</p>
<p>“Yes, Mr. President.”</p>
<p>“My compliments, and ask him to step
here.”</p>
<p>Dick waited in silence, a good deal perturbed
in spirit. What was to pay? The President
had but time to gather up some loose papers
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span>and put them in his desk when the door opened
and admitted his Secretary of State, James
Bowers, a man known throughout the length
and breadth of the land as representing all that
was best in America and Americans.</p>
<p>“Your attendant caught me just as I was
leaving, Mr. President,” he said. “I am entirely
at your service,” and he bowed gravely
to Dick, who had risen on his entrance.</p>
<p>“I won’t detain you long. You know Mr.
Tillinghast?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” smiled the Secretary. “He has interviewed
me on many occasions.”</p>
<p>“Then sit here by me.” The President
pushed a chair toward him. “Mr. Tillinghast
has come to me about the Trevor murder.”
The Secretary raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“I leave this matter entirely in your hands,
Bowers. Use your judgment in the affair.
Now, Mr. Tillinghast, tell us how you found out
a telephone call came from this office at that
particular hour for the Trevor house.”</p>
<p>Quickly Dick told them; and the two men followed
each word with deep attention. After
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span>Dick ceased speaking, the Secretary sprang
from his chair and paced the room rapidly in
deep thought.</p>
<p>“Tillinghast,” he said, stopping abruptly,
“what I tell you now is strictly confidential. I
am not speaking for publication.”</p>
<p>“Mr. Secretary,” replied Dick, quietly, “I
give you my word of honor that I shall never
make use of what you tell me.”</p>
<p>“Good! On the whole, I am glad you came,
because I was just debating whether or not to
send for the Chief of Police about this very affair.
Have I your permission to speak freely
to Tillinghast, Mr. President.”</p>
<p>“You have.”</p>
<p>Secretary Bowers settled himself more comfortably
in his chair, cleared his throat, and
began:</p>
<p>“On that Wednesday night I came here to
have a secret conference about a matter of national
importance. The President and I talked
until long after midnight. During our discussion
we found it necessary to get the Attorney
General’s advice on a vital law point. Knowing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span>
that Trevor often stays until daylight in
his private office, as I do—” a ghost of a smile
lighted his lips—“I took the chance of finding
him and rang him up there first, intending, if
that failed, to call his house ’phone. The
President’s voice and mine are much alike,
and it is not surprising that Murray thought
it was he calling up Mr. Trevor at that
hour.”</p>
<p>“And did he answer you?” asked Dick,
breathlessly.</p>
<p>“No—a woman did.”</p>
<p>Dick sat back in his chair and gazed hopelessly
at the President, and then at the Secretary.
Instantly his thoughts flew to Beatrice.
Great Heavens! He was almost afraid to ask
the next question.</p>
<p>“Did—did you by chance recognize her
voice?”</p>
<p>The Secretary hesitated a moment before answering.</p>
<p>“She spoke with a decided foreign accent”—again
he hesitated. “I called her ‘Mrs.
Trevor.’”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span></p>
<p>“Mrs. Trevor!” gasped Dick. For once
words failed him.</p>
<p>“Let me describe the scene to you exactly,”
went on the Secretary. “I waited only a few
minutes for the connection, and then I heard
the faint click of the receiver being removed
from the hook, then a woman’s cultivated voice
asked: ‘Who is eet?’ I promptly replied:
‘Can I speak to your husband, Mrs. Trevor?’
She made no answer, but in a second the
Attorney General came to the telephone,
gave me the desired information, and I rang
off.”</p>
<p>In absolute silence the three men faced each
other, with bewilderment and doubt written
on their countenances. The long pause was
broken by the Secretary.</p>
<p>“When I first heard of the tragedy I, like the
rest of the world, thought poor Mrs. Trevor
had been murdered by the burglar, Nelson. On
the day the inquest was held, I received a telegram
saying that my wife was dangerously ill
with typhoid fever in Cambridge. She had
gone there two weeks before to be with our
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span>son, who is at Harvard. I dropped everything
and hastened at once to her bedside. Until
the crisis was over I never left her. And so
deep was my anxiety, for the doctors held out
little hope that she would recover, that I
neglected everything outside the sick room. I
left all my business to my private secretary.</p>
<p>“My wife rallied wonderfully after the crisis
was passed, and I returned to Washington on
last night’s Federal. On the trip down my
secretary told me all the developments in the
Trevor case. I was simply thunderstruck!”</p>
<p>“In his direct testimony Mr. Trevor denied
being in his private office after his return from
the banquet; denied having seen his wife again.
He undoubtedly perjured himself,” said the
President, thoughtfully. “Still, even in the
face of such evidence, he may be innocent of
the crime. For the time being I shall give him
the benefit of the doubt.”</p>
<p>“You are right, and very just, Mr.
President,” exclaimed the Secretary. “This
phase of the case must be sifted to the bottom
in absolute secrecy. It would be ruinous to
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span>let the outside world know you even suspect
your Attorney General guilty of murder. The
effect would be appalling. Now, Tillinghast—”
he spoke with greater emphasis—“I
know you to be a man of integrity. You
have already shown great skill in this affair;
therefore, I am going to ask you to go and
see the Attorney General as my representative,
and ask him for an explanation. Then
come and report to me. I could send one
of the Secret Service men, but the fewer
people involved in this scandal the better.”</p>
<p>“I’ll do my very best, Mr. Secretary, to merit
your trust,” said Dick, warmly. “But how am
I to reach the Attorney General? He refuses
to see any newspaper men.”</p>
<p>“That is easily arranged,” said the Secretary.
“May I borrow pen and ink, Mr. President?”
drawing some note paper toward him
as he spoke. “I’ll write a few lines asking
him to see you; that will be all that is necessary.”</p>
<p>Quickly Secretary Bowers’ hand traveled
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span>over the paper; then, folding it neatly, he
handed the note to Dick, saying:</p>
<p>“Don’t fail us, Tillinghast; remember we
depend on your tact and discretion. I would
see Trevor myself, but my time is entirely
taken up with the Grand Duke Sergius’ presence
in the city. He dines with the President
to-night, as you doubtless know....”</p>
<p>“Come in,” called the President, as a discreet
knock interrupted the Secretary. Burton
entered and handed him a note.</p>
<p>“This is marked ‘Immediate and Personal,’
Mr. President. Recognizing the handwriting,
I brought it right in.”</p>
<p>As the President tore open the envelope and
rapidly read its contents, Secretary Bowers
turned to Dick, who was standing by the desk
awaiting an opportunity to depart, and said
quickly:</p>
<p>“Come and see me at the State Department
to-morrow morning at nine o’clock.”</p>
<p>The President signaled to Burton to withdraw;
then he looked directly at the Secretary
of State and Dick.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span></p>
<p>“This,” he said, tapping the letter in his
hand, “is from Mr. Trevor, tendering me his
resignation as my Attorney General on the
ground of ill health.”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI<br />
<span class="smaller">BEHIND CLOSED DOORS</span></h2></div>
<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">A</span> loud</span> rat-a-tat-tat startled Dick as he
dressed in his room that night. On
opening the door, he was much surprised to
find General Long standing on the threshold.</p>
<p>“Didn’t expect to see me, did you?” asked
Long, smiling at Dick’s amazement. “Your
very charming landlady told me I might come
right up. By Jove! she has fixed you up in
comfort,” and he looked enviously around
Dick’s pleasant, home-like room. “This is
something like,” sinking luxuriously into a huge
lounging chair.</p>
<p>“It’s mighty good of you to look me up so
soon, Chester. Sorry I can’t spend the evening
with you, but I must hurry along as soon
as I am fully dressed,” struggling to tie his
cravat as he spoke.</p>
<p>“Don’t mind me. I only dropped in to ask
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span>what you did to Tom Murray; he’s in the devil
of a flutter for fear he betrayed official
secrets.”</p>
<p>“Tom need not worry; he won’t get into
trouble. Say, old man, I simply must consult
you; but first promise by all that you hold
sacred you won’t breathe a word of what I’m
telling you.”</p>
<p>“I swear.” Long’s mouth closed like a steel
trap. When he spoke in that tone Dick knew
he meant what he said.</p>
<p>“The Secretary of State asked me to keep
these facts from becoming public; but I know
you can be relied on to be ‘mum.’” Dick
spoke slowly, weighing each word. “I must
have your advice, Chester. Since I saw you
last I have received incontestable proof that
Trevor <i>did</i> see his wife on his return from the
banquet that night, although he testified to the
contrary.”</p>
<p>Long whistled. “You think then that he
had a hand in the murder?” he asked doubtfully.</p>
<p>“I cannot reach any other conclusion.”
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span>Dick stopped a moment to check off his deductions
on his fingers. “First, there is the possibility
of Gordon’s being Mrs. Trevor’s first
husband—anyway, an old lover. Secondly, he
certainly was there that night. Probably
Trevor returned in time to catch them together.”</p>
<p>“Or perhaps he overheard their conversation,
waited until Gordon left, then had it out
with his wife,” interjected Long, quickly.
“He may have lost his temper—biff! Poor
devil!” remorsefully. “We must not judge
too hastily, Dick; we don’t know what provocation
he had—he may have been insanely jealous,
like Othello, for instance.”</p>
<p>“Think of having to go and ask a man why
he murdered his wife—oh, Lord!—oh, damn!”
Dick’s lamentations changed to maledictions.
To emphasize his remarks he had inadvertently
used too much strength in forcing his
sleeve button through his cuff, and one of the
links had broken in his hand. “Here, help
yourself to a cigarette,” pushing a box towards
Long, “while I mend this confounded button.
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span>Why aren’t you dining at the White House
to-night?”</p>
<p>“Not sufficiently urged. Nothing under a
Major-General was invited to meet his Imperial
Highness, the Grand Duke. The Russians
are a mighty fine looking race of men,
Dick, and the Grand Duke’s staff is no exception
to the rule.”</p>
<p>“Is that so? I met a very distinguished
looking Russian last night, a Count de Smirnoff.
He spoke our language much better than
most foreigners.”</p>
<p>“Oh, his nation are all good linguists. Is
the Count a member of the Grand Duke’s
staff?”</p>
<p>“De Morny didn’t tell me. By the way,
we discussed the Trevor murder last night, and
Count de Smirnoff suggested that the burglar
may have picked up the broken end of the
weapon used to kill Mrs. Trevor, and being
in no immediate fear of the hangman, is holding
it back to use as blackmail when he gets
out of jail.”</p>
<p>“That’s not a bad theory,” said Long.
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span>“Look into it, Dick. The deeper we get in this
affair the more involved it becomes. At
present,” rising as he saw Dick pick up his
overcoat and hat, “it looks as if the Attorney
General were indeed the guilty man. And
yet, Dick, if those three people had a scene
that night, Gordon, if innocent, must suspect
Trevor. Then why doesn’t he speak out and
clear himself?”</p>
<p>Dick shook his head despondently. “It’s
beyond me,” he groaned. “Come down and
see me at the office to-morrow afternoon,
Chester.”</p>
<p>“I am sorry, but I can’t; for I have to escort
the Grand Duke to Fort Myer. The troops
stationed there are to give a special drill in
his honor. But you come and dine with me
at the Willard, about seven thirty; for I am
most anxious to hear the outcome of your interview
with Trevor.”</p>
<p>“All right, I’ll be there. Come, hurry up,
Chester, I’m behind time.” So saying he hustled
Long into his overcoat and out of the house.</p>
<p>Twenty minutes later Dick ran lightly up
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span>the Trevor steps in much tribulation of spirit.
He heartily wished the night was over.</p>
<p>“Can I see the Attorney General, Wilkins?”
he asked, as that functionary opened the
door.</p>
<p>“No, sir. He is not at home, sir.”</p>
<p>“Sorry, Wilkins, but I must insist on being
admitted. I come from the Secretary of
State. Take this note and my card up to the
Attorney General and ask if he can see me.”</p>
<p>On entering the drawing-room Dick was surprised
to see Alfred Clark lounging comfortably
back on the big divan near the fireplace.
He glanced up with annoyance at the sound
of footsteps; but, recognizing Dick, he came
forward with outstretched hand.</p>
<p>“Good evening, Tillinghast,” he said cordially.
“I didn’t hear the front bell ring; I
must have been dozing.”</p>
<p>“Indeed,” answered Dick. What was it
about the fellow he didn’t like? Ah, it came to
him as Clark moved forward a chair—it was
the Secretary’s air of proprietorship—as if he
were host and Dick a tolerated intruder!</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span></p>
<p>“Can I do anything for you to-night, Tillinghast?”</p>
<p>“No, thanks. I called to see the Attorney
General.”</p>
<p>“Ah!” Clark’s exclamation and shrug were
foreign in their expressiveness. “That is impossible.
Mr. Trevor sees no one.”</p>
<p>“I think he will see me,” said Dick, patiently.</p>
<p>“I fear you are mistaken, Tillinghast. The
Attorney General denies himself to all callers,”
Clark replied suavely. “You will really have
to confide your business to me.”</p>
<p>“That is impossible,” replied Dick, shortly.</p>
<p>Clark flushed at his tone, and his eyes
flashed.</p>
<p>“You forget, sir, that I am the Attorney
General’s confidential secretary, in fact, his
representative. I would be perfectly within
my rights if I denied you admittance to this
house.”</p>
<p>The hot retort on Dick’s lips was checked by
Wilkins’ entrance.</p>
<p>“The Attorney General will see you, sir.
Please walk into his private office.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span></p>
<p>Try as he would, Clark could not prevent
a look of deep chagrin crossing his face, and
Dick chuckled inwardly as he followed the butler
out of the room and across the broad hall.
Just before he reached the door leading into
the office, he felt his nose twitching, premonitory
symptoms of a sneeze, and with hasty
fingers he pulled his handkerchief out of his
cuff.</p>
<p>The mended cuff link broke and made a
tinkling noise as it struck on the hearth of
the open fireplace; and then, with the evil ingenuity
which sometimes possesses inanimate
objects, it rolled far out of sight under a suit
of chain armor which hung to the left of the
chimney. Dick sprang in pursuit; Mrs.
Macallister had given the set to him that
Christmas, and he was determined not to lose
the button. So getting down on hands and
knees he groped about until his fingers closed
over it again; then rose hurriedly to his feet
at the same time thrusting the recovered link
into his waistcoat pocket, to find himself face
to face with the Attorney General.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span></p>
<p>“G—good e—evening, Mr. Attorney General,”
he stammered, much flustered. “I
smashed my cuff link, and was hunting for the
thing.” And he exhibited his unfastened cuff
to the Attorney General’s amused gaze.</p>
<p>“I am sorry, Tillinghast,” said he. “Wilkins,
see if you can help—”</p>
<p>“Oh, I have the link,” broke in Dick, tapping
his pocket reassuringly.</p>
<p>“Then let us go into the office. I believe you
wish to see me alone. Ah! Clark,” as his
secretary came out of the drawing-room, “you
need not wait any longer. Stay,” as Clark
hastily put on his overcoat with Wilkins’ assistance,
“please stop on your way down Connecticut
Avenue and send this night letter for
me. Good night, my boy.”</p>
<p>“Good night, sir; good night, Tillinghast,”
and the door banged to behind his retreating
form.</p>
<p>After they were seated in the closed room
Dick gazed in shocked surprise at the Attorney
General. Never had he seen a man alter
so much in so short a time. His hair and
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span>mustache were white, deep lines had formed
about his mouth and eyes, and the latter had
a feverish light in them which worried Dick
extremely. For a moment he was at a loss
how to explain his errand, but the Attorney
General solved the difficulty for him.</p>
<p>“Secretary Bowers in his note tells me that
I can trust you absolutely, and that you have
confidential news of importance for my ear
alone. Is it in regard to my resignation?”</p>
<p>“Well, partly, sir. I was with the President
and the Secretary when your letter was
delivered. They both wish you to reconsider
your decision.”</p>
<p>A shade of annoyance crossed Trevor’s face.
“I am afraid that is impossible, Tillinghast.
I am an ill man, as you can see. It is physically
impossible for me to carry on my work at
the Department of Justice.”</p>
<p>“Very true, sir. But could you not take a
vacation only? That would set you up wonderfully.”</p>
<p>“My mind is made up,” said Trevor, stubbornly.
“I intend to resign.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span></p>
<p>“The President told me, Mr. Attorney General,
that he could not accept your resignation
until—until—”</p>
<p>“Until what?” questioned Trevor, in growing
surprise.</p>
<p>Dick, taking his courage in both hands, continued:
“Until you explain your presence
here with your wife shortly before she was
killed.”</p>
<p>“Are you mad?” shouted Trevor. “As I
said on the witness stand, I never saw my wife
after my return that night—I—”</p>
<p>“One moment, sir. You forget the Secretary
himself talked on the telephone to both
you and your wife in this room at fifteen minutes
past two on Thursday morning.”</p>
<p>The Attorney General grew so ghastly that
Dick feared he would collapse in his chair.</p>
<p>“The telephone,” he croaked. “My God!
the telephone—I forgot that—” then, in uncontrollable
agitation, he sprang to his feet
and walked up and down, head bent, eyes on
the floor.</p>
<p>Five minutes, ten minutes passed; but the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span>silence between the two men remained unbroken.
Dick simply could not speak, he felt
as if he were torturing some dumb animal,
for the look of agony on Trevor’s face unnerved
him. Finally the Attorney General
dropped exhausted into his revolving chair.</p>
<p>“Tillinghast,” he said, slowly, “I am miserable—miserable—”
His shaking hand played
for a second with his watch chain. “I thought
that by taking a certain course of action I could
prevent knowledge of other matters from becoming
known broadcast.”</p>
<p>“I beg your pardon, sir,” interrupted Dick,
gently. “What you tell me to-night will, as
far as I am concerned, be repeated to only one
person—the Secretary.”</p>
<p>“Thanks; that assurance makes it easier for
me. If I had recollected about the telephone
call I would have gone to the President myself;
but—” a shrug completed his sentence.
“Now, as I understand it, Tillinghast,” he
continued, “you three men think I came down
here, met my wife, quarreled with her, and
killed her.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span></p>
<p>“Yes, that’s about it,” admitted Dick, reluctantly.</p>
<p>“It is, I suppose, a natural inference. But
the woman whom I was talking to in this room—was
not my wife.”</p>
<p>Dick started so violently that he overturned
a pile of magazines lying on the desk by his
elbow. He was too confused to pick them up,
but sat gazing blankly at Trevor. A vulgar
intrigue! He had never supposed he was that
sort of man.</p>
<p>The Attorney General colored painfully as
he read Dick’s thought.</p>
<p>“Don’t jump to conclusions,” he said,
harshly. “To explain matters fully I shall
have to go back to my marriage to Hélène de
Beaupré. We met in London, and I, like many
others, fell madly in love with her. She returned
my affection, and I persuaded her to
marry me at once.</p>
<p>“She has always been a good and loving
wife to me. But I found she had one fault;
in fact, it became an overwhelming passion—she
gambled. It seemed to be some taint in
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span>her blood. Again and again I remonstrated
with her, but to no purpose. She gambled so
persistently, so recklessly, and her losses were
so large that, finally, I told her my income was
crippled by her extravagance, and that hereafter
she would have to live within a certain
allowance. She realized at last that I was in
earnest, and did her best to comply with my
request. Would God I had never made it!”
Trevor spoke with passionate feeling. “I
might have known that a born gambler can
never be cured or kept within bounds.</p>
<p>“Well, to go on with my story, I thought
that she had stopped gambling, knowing that
she had not overdrawn her allowance, or appealed
to me for extra money. But on Monday,
February 1st, I went to the Barclays’
about midnight to fetch my wife home from
their card party. They play bridge for high
stakes in that house, and I had asked my wife
to decline the invitation. She refused to do
so, however, saying if I would go there for
supper she would leave with me immediately
afterwards. Knowing that most of the high
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span>play took place after midnight, I agreed to do
as she requested.</p>
<p>“When I entered the Barclays’ drawing-room
the guests were still playing, and I went
and stood silently behind my wife’s chair.
She was absorbed in the play and did not
notice my presence. To my unspeakable horror,
I saw her deliberately cheat.</p>
<p>“For a moment the room swam around me,
then gathering my wits I looked to see if the
other players had also detected her. As my
eye traveled around the table, Madame de Berriot
raised her head, and I saw by her expression
that she also had caught my wife in
the act of cheating. For one sickening second
I feared she would call everyone’s attention to
their table, but to my surprise, she said nothing.</p>
<p>“I got my wife away as quickly as possible,
but I was too sick at heart to tell her of
my discovery. I walked the floor for the rest
of the night wondering what was the best thing
for me to do.</p>
<p>“On my arrival at the Department Tuesday
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span>morning, I found Madame de Berriot awaiting
me in my office. It was not a pleasant interview.”
The Attorney General smiled bitterly.
“We went over the whole dirty business. She
had come there to bleed me, and she did—$10,000
was her price of silence.</p>
<p>“I am a proud man, Tillinghast, and I could
not bear to have my wife and my name coupled
with dishonor. I—I could not face the scandal
that would follow the exposé; therefore,
I bought the woman off.</p>
<p>“It was a large sum, and I could not give
it to her at a moment’s notice. She was then
on her way to Baltimore, but intended to return
to Washington late on Wednesday afternoon
to get her traps together, as she was
leaving here for good Thursday morning on
the Colonial Express. She did not wish me
to call at the Embassy where she was stopping
as it might cause comment; she would
not accept a certified check for the same
reason.</p>
<p>“My engagements on Wednesday were such
that I had no time free. Therefore, in desperation,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span>
I suggested she should stop here for
the money. I knew my wife and Beatrice intended
to go to the Bachelors’, and that they
never left a dance until the very end. So it
was arranged that she should come here on her
way from the ball about two o’clock.</p>
<p>“It was sheer madness to yield to a blackmailer,
I know, but, Tillinghast, I was half
wild by that time, and lost my head; and bitterly
have I rued it since.” Trevor sighed
drearily. “I came home that night, as I testified
at the inquest, and went directly to my
room, tiptoeing past my wife’s door, for I was
desperately afraid of awakening her. I threw
myself down on the lounge and, overcome by
weariness, fell into a troubled sleep.</p>
<p>“Some time later I awoke with a start,
struck a match and glanced at the clock; it
was just five minutes of two. I raised the
shade and looked out of the window. The Embassy
was not far away. Suddenly I saw a
woman’s figure coming slowly down 20th
Street. I watched her cross the street, and
then hurried downstairs as noiselessly as I
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span>could and admitted her. We went at once to
the private office, and there I discovered that
I had left my wallet containing the money in
my bedroom, and I hastened back upstairs to
get it. Just as I was returning the telephone
rang. Madame de Berriot, thinking the noise
might be overheard, removed the receiver, but
instead of putting it on the table answered the
call; then beckoned to me. I talked to the
Secretary; then rang off. Immediately afterwards
I gave Madame de Berriot her money
in gold certificates, and escorted her to the
door. That is the last I ever saw of her,” he
added, leaning wearily back in his chair.</p>
<p>For some minutes Dick sat regarding
Trevor in silence. Then he roused himself.</p>
<p>“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”</p>
<p>“No; go ahead.”</p>
<p>“Do you think anyone could have been in
hiding in this room while you were here?”</p>
<p>“I think not. Madame de Berriot was as
nervous as a cat, she kept glancing in every
direction.”</p>
<p>“Was the safe open or closed?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span></p>
<p>“The outside closet door was closed, so the
one to the safe had to be shut.”</p>
<p>“Why did you not keep the $10,000 in the
safe?”</p>
<p>“I had forgotten the combination.” Then,
as he saw Dick’s look of incredulity, he added:
“I never can remember the complicated numbers;
so for convenience I wrote the word
‘safe’ and the numbers of the combination
down in a small memorandum book when I
first took this house. I seldom open the safe
as Clark attends to it for me.”</p>
<p>“Why didn’t you ask your secretary for the
combination, or look it up in your book?”</p>
<p>“I forgot to ask Clark until after he had
gone,” explained the Attorney General patiently,
“and when I looked for the book it
was not in its place.”</p>
<p>“Indeed. Where do you usually keep it?”</p>
<p>The Attorney General put his hand on the
beveled front of his massive, flat-topped desk.</p>
<p>“This looks like a solid piece of mahogany,”
he said, “but in fact it is a secret drawer. To
unlock it you open this upper left hand
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span>drawer as far as it will go. There is a round
hole in its back partition, and by putting your
hand through it you can touch the spring.”
He illustrated his words as he spoke, and the
small secret drawer slid noiselessly open.
Dick examined the mechanism with care.</p>
<p>“How many people can open this drawer
besides yourself?” he asked.</p>
<p>The Attorney General considered a moment
before replying.</p>
<p>“I am positive only Mrs. Trevor, my daughter,
and myself can do so,” he declared, finally.
“My daughter bought the desk at an auction
in New York, and gave it to me shortly after
we moved here.”</p>
<p>“Did you go immediately upstairs after
Madame de Berriot’s departure?” asked Dick,
continuing his inquiries.</p>
<p>“I did; going straight to my room. Everything
upstairs was perfectly quiet. I went to
bed at once, and fell sound asleep shortly after
my head touched the pillow.” Then, as Dick
rose, he added quickly: “Tell the Secretary
everything. Now that I know I may be suspected<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span>
of murder, I withdraw my resignation.
I will stay here and fight it out. Tell him,
also—” his voice rang out clearly, impressively—“that,
as God is my witness, I know
nothing of my wife’s murder!”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII<br />
<span class="smaller">BLIND CLEWS</span></h2></div>
<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">“A</span>nd</span> what is your opinion, Tillinghast?”
asked the Secretary. They were sitting
alone the next morning in his private office.
He had listened attentively to Dick’s detailed
account of his interview with the Attorney
General.</p>
<p>“I believe Mr. Trevor’s statement,” he answered,
looking squarely at Secretary Bowers.</p>
<p>“And so do I,” heartily agreed the other.
“Trevor had to buy Madame de Berriot’s
silence. If the scandal had gotten out it would
have meant social ostracism, not only for the
guilty woman, but for Beatrice Trevor and her
father as well. It is another case of the innocent
suffering with the guilty. Now, Tillinghast,
do you know any facts about Mr. Gordon’s
connection with this affair which have
not been made public?” Seeing Dick’s hesitancy,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span>
he added, “Murders are usually outside
my province, I know, but this one touches
the President closely; first one of his aides is
suspected, then his Attorney General is
dragged into the affair. If innocent, they must
be cleared as quickly as possible. Come, sir,
I must have an answer.”</p>
<p>“You are right, Mr. Secretary,” replied
Dick. “I only hesitated fearing I might get
Gordon into further trouble.” Then, in a few
words, he repeated what General Long had told
him.</p>
<p>“Whew!” whistled the Secretary. “That
certainly complicates matters. Do you think
Trevor knew of Gordon’s former infatuation
for his wife?”</p>
<p>“Indeed, sir, I was afraid to speak of Gordon,”
confessed Dick. “I didn’t know what
effect it might have. Mr. Trevor looked so
desperately ill and worn.”</p>
<p>The Secretary nodded comprehendingly.
“I am going to send for him to lunch with me
to-day to tell him that he must on no account
resign just now, and I will try and find out how
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span>much he does know of Mrs. Trevor’s old love-affair.”
He paused a moment, then resumed:
“There are two things which I think have a
bearing on this case.”</p>
<p>“What are they, Mr. Secretary?” asked
Dick, eagerly.</p>
<p>“First—find out who removed the Attorney
General’s memorandum book. Secondly—while
everyone has tried to prove who entered
the Trevor house, no one has sought to find
out when a certain member of the household
left there.”</p>
<p>“Whom do you mean?”</p>
<p>“Why, what time did the private secretary
leave the house, and where did he spend the
evening?”</p>
<p>“By Jove! I never thought of him.”</p>
<p>“Look up those two things. I feel sure they
will repay you.” Then, as Dick picked up his
hat and cane, “Tillinghast, you have acted with
great discretion in this affair, and I feel convinced
you will carry your investigations to
a successful issue. If I can be of service to
you at any time, come and see me.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span></p>
<p>Thanking the Secretary warmly for his encouraging
words, Dick hastened out of the
room. At the <i>Star</i> Office, he found a note
awaiting him from Peggy. She asked him to
come and see her that afternoon and “report
progress.”</p>
<p>“‘Report progress,’” groaned poor Dick.
“I’m damned if I can. Your Uncle Dudley’s
up a tree for sure, Peggy darling, but he’ll do
some tall climbing before he gives up, you
bet.”</p>
<p>“Say, son, the City Editor wants you P. D.
Q.,” called Dan Conner. “Stop mooning and
hump yourself.”</p>
<p>Taking the hint, Dick fled upstairs to the city
room on the double quick.</p>
<p>“Morning, Dick,” said Colonel Byrd. “Gibson
has just sent word that he is sick, so you
will have to take his place at the Capitol. Get
down there early, as there are some important
committee meetings to cover. By the way,
any further news about the Trevor murder?”</p>
<p>“Not now, sir. There may be some new developments
shortly, though. Can I get off if
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span>I hear of anything turning up in that quarter?”</p>
<p>“Sure; drop everything and run. Get your
stuff in as quick as you can.” And the busy
editor turned back to his desk.</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>The clock was just striking half past five
when Dick, after an eventful day at the Capitol,
reached Mrs. Macallister’s hospitable mansion
on F Street. The old house with its
Colonial architecture looked like a relic of antebellum
days, for standing as it did well back
from the sidewalk, with two fine old elms on
either side of the brick walk, it had an individuality
of its own. A central hall ran
through it, the drawing-room and dining-room
being to the left of the front door, while the
large library and billiard room were on the
other side. The ceilings were very high,
which made the house most comfortable in hot
weather. That fact, combined with her beautiful
rose garden, induced Mrs. Macallister to
stay in the city until July.</p>
<p>True to the traditions of old Washington,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span>Mrs. Macallister kept her “Fridays at Home”
from November until June. The fashion of
having only four days in a month did not suit
her hospitable mind, and those who put first
and third Tuesdays, or Wednesdays, as the
case might be, on their visiting cards, drove
her nearly frantic. “I was always a poor
mathematician,” she informed one of her
friends. “I know two and two make four, but
this dot and carry one business is beyond me.”
Therefore, she usually flung the offending
pasteboards into the scrap basket and went
serenely on her way, returning calls when it
suited her pleasure and convenience.</p>
<p>Another innovation to which she seriously
objected was having tea served in her drawing-room.
Five o’clock tea at home in the bosom
of her family was one thing; but having a small
tea table, littered with cups and saucers and
plates, stuck in one corner with an unhappy
matron presiding over it was quite a different
matter. Therefore, every Friday the dining-room
table was regularly set and covered with
tempting dishes of all descriptions; and Peggy
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span>poured tea at one end, and one of her numerous
friends was always asked to take care of
the hot chocolate at the other.</p>
<p>The callers had thinned out by the time Dick
arrived, only about a dozen people, mostly men,
were sitting comfortably around the table.
His heart sank when he saw de Morny in close
attendance upon Peggy. To his jealous eyes
they appeared to be on very confidential terms
indeed, which completed his misery. Mrs.
Macallister beckoned to him to sit by her, so,
casting a lingering glance at Peggy, he obediently
carried his cup and saucer to her side
of the table.</p>
<p>“Any further developments in the Trevor
murder, Dick?” Mrs. Macallister asked him,
after a few minutes’ chat about other matters.</p>
<p>Her words were overheard by a tall, showily
dressed woman sitting across the table from
them, and she leaned over and joined in the
conversation.</p>
<p>“Yes, do tell us, Mr. Tillinghast,” she
begged, with an ingratiating smile. Matilda
Gleason was one of four sisters who lived in
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span>a handsome palace on Columbia Road. It was
rumored to have cost in the neighborhood of
two hundred thousand dollars; as to the architecture,
the Gleasons <i>said</i> it was Early English,
but having employed three architects before
the house was completed, the effect was
more or less startling. It had been nicknamed
“Gilded Misery.”</p>
<p>Where the Gleasons had come from was a
mooted question, but they had taken a good
many staid Washingtonians into camp by the
splendor of their entertainments. Mrs. Macallister
had never called upon them, but in an
unwary moment the chairman of the Board of
Lady Managers of the Children’s Hospital had
put Miss Gleason on the same committee with
Mrs. Macallister, and the former had seized
the opportunity to call that afternoon on the
pretext of discussing business pertaining to the
Hospital.</p>
<p>“Why, no news at all,” answered Dick,
cautiously. He knew Miss Gleason’s love of
scandal, and that the sisters had been nicknamed
“Envy, Hatred, Malice, and All Uncharitableness”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span>
by one long-suffering matron,
who had been their victim on several occasions.</p>
<p>“When does the case go to the Grand Jury,
Dick,” called Peggy, from her end of the table.</p>
<p>“In about ten days, I think.”</p>
<p>“I hope Mr. Gordon’s sentence will be all
that the law allows,” said Miss Gleason. It
was apparent to everyone where the shoe
pinched. All Washington, which in some ways
is like an overgrown village, knew of her relentless
and unsuccessful pursuit of Gordon
during the month that he had been stationed at
the White House, and several of the men present,
who had suffered from the same cause,
smiled to themselves.</p>
<p>“It is not at all certain he committed the
crime,” said Mrs. Macallister, freezingly.</p>
<p>“He virtually admitted it,” retorted Miss
Gleason.</p>
<p>“We look on a man as innocent until proven
guilty, you know, Miss Gleason,” answered
Dick, quietly.</p>
<p>“Well, if he isn’t guilty, who is?” asked Miss
Gleason.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span></p>
<p>“The burglar,” promptly chimed in Peggy.</p>
<p>“Nonsense, my dear; why should such a person
use a hat-pin when he had his revolver, and
where would he get such a thing?”</p>
<p>For a moment Peggy was at a loss for a reply.
She had the same doubt herself, but she
was determined not to give in to Miss Gleason,
“horrid old cat.” Count de Morny, all unconsciously,
came to her rescue. The other guests
were silently listening to the discussion.</p>
<p>“I sink Madame Trevor haf stick herself
wiz ze pin,” he volunteered, struggling with
the <i>langue terrible</i>, which he had never been
able to master. “But yes, Monsieur,” catching
Dick’s incredulous stare, “did not ze doctaire
say it was possible for one who was left
handed to strike herself the blow?”</p>
<p>“How do you know Mrs. Trevor was left
handed?” demanded Miss Gleason loudly.</p>
<p>“I haf played ze cards wiz her most often,”
answered de Morny, simply.</p>
<p>“But why should Mrs. Trevor commit suicide?”
asked Dick, unbelievingly.</p>
<p>De Morny shrugged his shoulders, and answered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span>
his question with another: “Why
should Monsieur Gordon kill her?”</p>
<p>“That’s right,” declared Captain McLane,
of the U.S. Marine Corps. “Why should he?
I served three years on board the same cruiser
with Donald Gordon, and there isn’t a more
honorable, lovable fellow in the Service. It is
absolutely unbelievable that he could perpetrate
so ghastly a crime.”</p>
<p>As Dick looked across at Peggy he caught
Count de Smirnoff’s eye. The Russian was
sitting between his hostess and Miss Gleason.
For the first time he joined in the conversation.</p>
<p>“Your theory is weak, Henri,” he said,
mildly. “Why should a young and beautiful
woman, who enjoys health, wealth, and a happy
home, kill herself?”</p>
<p>“You nevaire can tell about ze ladies,” retorted
de Morny, obstinately. “Zey are—what
you say—‘a law unto themselves, and easily
wrought-over and deviled up. Zey make trifles
into mountains.”</p>
<p>“Granting that Mrs. Trevor might have had
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span>a motive for suicide,” said Dick, smiling at the
excited Frenchman, “it was utterly impossible
for a dead woman to lock herself in the
safe.”</p>
<p>“Could she not have killed herself in the safe
after shutting the door?” inquired de Smirnoff.</p>
<p>Dick shook his head. “Possibly you do not
recollect that witnesses testified at the inquest
that her left arm was pressed tightly against
the door-jamb, supporting her weight.”</p>
<p>“She might have fallen forward into that
position.”</p>
<p>“I hardly think it likely. Mr. Clark, who
was the first inmate of the household to find
Mrs. Trevor, testified that her body was literally
wedged into the safe.”</p>
<p>“You have but his word for it.”</p>
<p>A peculiar tone in the speaker’s voice caused
Dick to glance sharply at him, but he learned
nothing from the Russian’s face. It was expressionless.
Before Dick could pursue his
questions, Miss Gleason threw herself into the
conversation.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span></p>
<p>“How is that dear Mr. Clark bearing up
under this terrible tragedy?” she asked, addressing
Peggy directly.</p>
<p>“He looked very well the last time I saw
him,” said the latter, a twinkle of mischief in
her deep blue eyes.</p>
<p>“I am so glad to hear it. You know, dear
Mrs. Macallister, he is such a delightful man
to have around. He always looks after one so
attentively. I never want for anything when
he is in the room; and then he is so handsome,
so cultivated! It is a dreadful blow having
him in mourning.”</p>
<p>“I wasn’t aware he is in mourning,” said
Peggy, surprised. “Has he lost a relative?”</p>
<p>“Oh, no. But of course he will accept no
invitations now, on account of his engagement
to Beatrice Trevor.”</p>
<p>“What!” Peggy nearly overturned the urn
in her excitement. “Miss Gleason, you are
entirely mistaken. Beatrice never was engaged
to Mr. Clark.”</p>
<p>“Indeed? Mrs. Trevor led me to suppose
otherwise. From what she said I gathered the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span>engagement was to be announced shortly. It
is not surprising I thought it a love match,”
she continued, catching a glimpse of Peggy’s
indignant expression. “He is desperately attentive
to her, and I see them together all the
time.”</p>
<p>“Speaking of seeing people,” broke in Captain
McLane, “have you seen Bertie Lee
since he and his wife returned from their
honeymoon? He came into the club the other
night looking absolutely woe-begone.”</p>
<p>“He did, indeed,” laughed Dick. “I
couldn’t help thinking of the lines:</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent0">‘“When I think on what I are</div>
<div class="verse indent2">And what I uster was</div>
<div class="verse indent0">I feel I threw myself away</div>
<div class="verse indent2">Without sufficient cos!”’”</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>“They suit him to a ‘T,’” agreed McLane,
helping himself to a glass of cherry bounce.</p>
<p>“You know the Courtland Browns, do you
not, Mrs. Macallister,” asked Miss Gleason,
pulling on her gloves preparatory to departing.
“I hear they are going to air their marital
troubles in court, but it’s a long story, and
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span>I must go. Good-by, dear Mrs. Macallister,
such a delightful afternoon. Good-by, everybody,
don’t get up?” She waved her hand to
them all and tripped out of the room.</p>
<p>“‘The wicked flee when no man pursueth,’”
quoted Mrs. Macallister, a naughty twinkle in
her eye.</p>
<p>“Have you heard of the dinner the Gleasons
gave at which they separated the goats from
the sheep?” asked Captain McLane. “They
served Veuve Cliquot at one table, and American
champagne at the other.”</p>
<p>“Oh, why do we put up with such ill-bred
behavior?” cried Peggy, impulsively.</p>
<p>“My dear, you are wrong,” said Mrs. Macallister.
“The Gleasons belong to a large class
who show ‘the unconscious insolence of conscious
wealth,’ as one of our statesmen aptly
puts it.”</p>
<p>“Miss Gleason is very highly colored for a
woman of her years,” said de Smirnoff,
gravely.</p>
<p>“Highly colored!” exclaimed Mrs. Macallister.
“It’s a wonder she doesn’t die of
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span>painter’s colic. Must you go?” as her guests
rose from the table, and she walked with them
into the drawing-room.</p>
<p>It was some few minutes before the other
callers started on their way, and Dick listened
with what patience he could muster to their
interminable good-bys. But Peggy soon joined
him in the drawing-room.</p>
<p>“Now, sir, give an account of yourself,” she
said, with mock severity. “You haven’t been
near me since the ball—” a sudden recollection
caused her to blush hotly, and Dick thought
what a lovely, dainty bit of femininity she was.
Her shimmering crêpe de chine Princess dress
of sapphire blue showed up her blonde beauty
in a way to tantalize any man, let alone poor
Dick, who was already hopelessly in the toils.</p>
<p>Dick promptly lost his head. “Peggy,” he
stammered. “Dearest—be—”</p>
<p>“What are you two talking about?” asked
Mrs. Macallister, coming suddenly back into the
room.</p>
<p>“Er—nothing,” gasped Dick, who had a
wholesome dread of incurring her displeasure.
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span>Having a very modest opinion of himself, he
feared she would bitterly oppose his suit. “I
was just going to ask Peggy about Alfred
Clark and Beatrice Trevor. Was there ever
anything between them, Peggy?”</p>
<p>“Well, really, Dick!—”</p>
<p>“I know, Peggy, I know you won’t break a
confidence; but indeed it is important that I
know.”</p>
<p>Peggy debated for a moment while Mrs
Macallister looked thoughtfully at them. What
were those two young people up to? It behooved
her to find out.</p>
<p>“Then, I think I’d better tell you, Dick; particularly
as I’m not breaking any confidence.
Alfred Clark <i>is</i> devoted to Beatrice, and I overheard
him making desperate love to her at their
house on Tuesday night, or rather Wednesday
morning. I was searching for Beatrice to say
good-by and walked in upon them in the private
office. You know it was a very large party, and
the entire first floor was thrown open to accommodate
the guests. Beatrice seemed glad of
the interruption, but Mr. Clark looked as black
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span>as a thunder cloud. I rather enjoyed his discomfiture,”
and Peggy laughed at the recollection.
“One gets so tired of his perpetual
smile.”</p>
<p>“Do you think Miss Trevor returns his affection?”</p>
<p>Peggy looked troubled. “Beatrice is very
reserved,” she said. “She seldom speaks of
men’s attentions to her, even to me, her best
friend. If you had asked me that question a
month ago I would have said positively, ‘No’—but
lately, Beatrice, without actually encouraging
Mr. Clark, has allowed him to be with her
more than formally.”</p>
<p>“Then you think—?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know what I think,” pettishly.</p>
<p>“Was this supper given the night before the
murder?”</p>
<p>“Yes. Madame Bernhardt was the guest of
honor.”</p>
<p>“Was Gordon there by chance?”</p>
<p>“Oh, yes. He took me out to supper and was
just as jolly and nice as he could be.”</p>
<p>“I am sorry to interrupt you young people,”
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span>called Mrs. Macallister from the doorway. She
had strolled out into the hall to speak to her
maid. “But I must remind Peggy that she has
to dress for a dinner at the Pattersons’.”</p>
<p>“Gracious!” exclaimed Dick, in dismay,
glancing at his watch. “I had no idea it was so
late. Do forgive me, Mrs. Macallister, for
staying so long.”</p>
<p>“I will, provided you promise to come and
dine with us on Wednesday next, at eight
o’clock.”</p>
<p>Peggy’s eyes seconded the invitation, and
Dick accepted so joyfully that Mrs. Macallister’s
eyes danced wickedly. “Count de
Smirnoff is very agreeable,” she said, as Peggy
left the room, “and I am indebted to Count de
Morny for bringing him to see me. They had
been to the drill at Fort Myer, and the Russian
gave a most entertaining account of it. It is a
relief to talk to him after struggling with Count
de Morny’s broken English.”</p>
<p>“It is indeed,” agreed Dick, heartily. “Poor
de Morny certainly murders the King’s English.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span></p>
<p>“I asked Count de Smirnoff to call again,”
pursued Mrs. Macallister. “I like him, and we
have many mutual friends.”</p>
<p>“How long is he going to be here?”</p>
<p>“Until the Grand Duke returns to New York.
Good night, Dick; come and see us soon again.”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII<br />
<span class="smaller">THE THREAT</span></h2></div>
<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">O</span>n</span> that same afternoon Beatrice sat in the
library gazing with troubled eyes at a letter
lying open in her lap. Suddenly she tore it
into shreds and flung the pieces into the open
fire.</p>
<p>“How dare he?” she exclaimed aloud.</p>
<p>“Beg pardon, Miss Beatrice,” said Wilkins,
patiently. He had already addressed her three
times.</p>
<p>“What is it?” asked Beatrice, for the first
time aware of his presence.</p>
<p>“Detective Hardy is at the telephone, miss.
He wishes to know if you can see him this afternoon.”</p>
<p>“No, I cannot.” She shivered slightly.
“Tell him, Wilkins, that I am lying down, but
that I will see him to-morrow about this time.
I am not at home to anyone to-day.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span></p>
<p>“Very good, miss.”</p>
<p>Just as Wilkins hung up the telephone receiver,
the front bell rang so loudly that in the
library Beatrice paused in her rapid pacing
back and forth to listen. She heard voices
raised in a heated altercation. “Some more reporters,”
she thought, shrugging her shoulders
nervously. She threw herself on the lounge
and took up her embroidery.</p>
<p>“Well, here I am,” said a heavy bass voice
from the doorway. Beatrice glanced up in surprise,
and saw Mrs. Curtis, wife of the Secretary
of War, standing on the threshold. Wilkins’
flushed and unhappy countenance could be
seen over her shoulder. It was not often that
he was out-maneuvered as a watch-dog. “Your
servant said you were out, but I knew he was
<i>lying</i>, so just walked right by him. I simply
had to see you, Beatrice,” kissing her affectionately.</p>
<p>“And I’m very glad to see you, Mrs. Curtis,”
answered Beatrice, warmly, as she helped her
off with her wraps.</p>
<p>“Joe said you wouldn’t want to see me,”
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span>went on Mrs. Curtis, picking out a comfortable
chair and seating her two hundred odd pounds
in it very gingerly. “Joe also said I must not
allude to your troubles—Mercy on us!”—greatly
embarrassed—“well, the murder’s out—good
gracious!”</p>
<p>Her consternation was so ludicrous that
Beatrice smiled as she pulled a chair forward.
Mrs. Curtis’ faculty for making “breaks” was
well known among her friends.</p>
<p>Short of stature, her weight made her waddle
when she walked, and no art of any dressmaker
could give her a waist line. Boasting as she
did of a long line of ancestors, whose names
were illustrious in American history, she considered
she could do as she pleased, live where
she pleased, and associate with whom she
pleased. Her manners could not always be relied
on; they were apt to vary with the state of
her digestion. Abrupt and often overbearing
at times, she had, however, two traits of character
shared by few—loyalty and the courage
of her convictions.</p>
<p>She had always been fond of Beatrice, and
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span>some recent gossip about the Trevors coming
to her ears that afternoon had made her very
angry. She championed their cause at once, to
the consternation of the two worthy women
who, having repeated the gossip, wilted under
her indignant glance. Hence the determined
assault on the Trevors’ front door.</p>
<p>“Tea!” she exclaimed, overhearing Beatrice’s
order to Wilkins. “My dear, don’t have
it on my account. I detest the stuff. A glass
of sherry and a biscuit will do me more good
than anything else you can offer.”</p>
<p>“How is the Secretary?” asked Beatrice,
placing the decanter and biscuits which had
been quickly forthcoming, before her guest.</p>
<p>“Very well, barring an attack of gout.
I told him it was a case of suppressed kicking
against the powers that be on Capitol Hill. I
met your father on the street this morning. He
looks dreadfully, poor man. Is there any truth
in this rumor of his resigning?” casting a keen
glance at the unconscious girl.</p>
<p>“No truth at all,” Beatrice answered emphatically.
“We may both go to Atlantic City
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span>for a week, but that is the only time father will
be away from his office until June. I can’t imagine
how such a report started.”</p>
<p>“Washington is a hotbed of rumors always,”
retorted Mrs. Curtis. “What people
don’t know, they make up. But I did not come
here to talk about my neighbors’ shortcomings,
but to ask if you won’t go motoring with
me as soon as the condition of the streets permits.
You need to be out in the fresh air,” and
she patted Beatrice’s thin cheeks. The somber
black garb enhanced her pallor, but for all that
Mrs. Curtis decided in her own mind that she
had seldom seen her look more lovely. “If
that man has been playing fast and loose with
her affections,” she thought, “I’ll—I’ll give
him a piece of my mind.” It was no idle threat.
Those who had experienced a piece of her gray
matter would rather have faced a Gatling gun;
at least, the end came swiftly.</p>
<p>“I’d love to go with you, Mrs. Curtis.”</p>
<p>“Good. And you’ll come back and dine with
us?”</p>
<p>“Oh, I wouldn’t like to, just yet, because of
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span>our deep—” for the life of her she could not
say grief—“mourning,” she supplemented.</p>
<p>“Tut! No one stops to think of that, nowadays.”
Suddenly realizing that she might be
treading on rather painful ground for Beatrice,
Mrs. Curtis pulled herself up short. “I’ll take
another glass of sherry after all, for I am simply
exhausted. Ever since three o’clock I’ve
done nothing but peddle cards from house to
house.”</p>
<p>“Done what?” asked Beatrice, in blank
amazement.</p>
<p>“Peddle cards—visiting cards. I have a
calling list as long as the Washington Monument.
It’s perfectly fearful. First they call;
you call; they call, and so it goes, back and
forth, battledore and shuttlecock.”</p>
<p>“It is a treadmill,” agreed Beatrice, laughing.
“It is a pity someone doesn’t open a
clearing house for callers, it would simplify
matters, particularly for the official set.”</p>
<p>“The habit is just as bad among the Cave
Dwellers (old Washingtonians),” she explained
in parenthesis. “<i>They</i> even make tea
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span>calls! I work like a slavey, and yet it’s all I
can do to make my bread and butter ones. By
the way, did you go to the Constables’ dinner
dance two weeks ago?”</p>
<p>“No,” answered Beatrice, interested. “I
heard it was a feast.”</p>
<p>“A feast? It was a feed! One hundred and
fifty dinner guests, and fifty extra couples for
the cotillion afterwards. The favors were
beautiful, so beautiful that there was great
rivalry to get them, and later in the evening it
was noised around that the souvenir favors
were twenty dollar gold pieces. Anyway, that
particular favor was given out in cardboard
boxes, and none of the men would give them
away to a girl until they investigated them first
for fear they wouldn’t get one in return.”</p>
<p>“What were they?” asked Beatrice, greatly
diverted.</p>
<p>“Oh, pieces of handsome jewelry. By the
way, I saw Margaret Macallister there flirting
outrageously. That nice Mr. Tillinghast is
very attentive to her.”</p>
<p>“He has been in love with her for years.
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span>But Peggy flouts him, as she does all the
rest.”</p>
<p>“To take up with a broken stick in the end,
I suppose. Well, it’s a pity young Tillinghast
is wasting his time. Mrs. Macallister would
never consent to her marrying a poor man when
a title is in sight.”</p>
<p>“You are wrong, Mrs. Curtis,” said Beatrice,
politely but positively. “Mrs. Macallister is a
woman of the world, not a worldly woman.
She is devoted to her granddaughter, and
would not let money considerations interfere
with Peggy’s future happiness.”</p>
<p>“Still, my dear, Count de Morny is a matrimonial
prize. Perhaps he will win her after
all, the diplomats have such charming, delightful
manners—a great contrast to our men.”</p>
<p>“Quite true, Mrs. Curtis; but personally give
me an American every time. Our men may not
know parlor tricks, but they are tender, loyal
and brave.” Beatrice spoke with unwonted
feeling.</p>
<p>“Hoity-toity, child, don’t get so excited. I
meant no particular criticism of our men.
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span>Haven’t I a dear old bear at home, whom I’d
positively <i>hate</i> if he wasn’t an American.
Mercy on us, it’s nearly six o’clock, I must run
along. Good-by, my dear,” kissing Beatrice
with unusual tenderness. “Keep a good
heart.” And she bustled out of the house.</p>
<p>Beatrice walked rather slowly back to the
library. She was deeply touched as well as
surprised by Mrs. Curtis’ blunt kindness.
“From those we expect the least, we get the
most,” she thought bitterly, while gathering up
her workbag preparatory to going to her
room.</p>
<p>“May I come in for a moment?” asked a
voice from the doorway. Beatrice glanced
with some astonishment at the speaker, and
answered quietly:</p>
<p>“Why, certainly, Mr. Clark.”</p>
<p>“Your father has just telephoned that he is
detained at the White House, and will not be
back until late.” He stopped speaking, and
fingered the table ornaments; then burst out:
“Miss Beatrice, why do you not take better
care of yourself?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span></p>
<p>Beatrice flushed. “I am stronger than I
look. You must not always judge by appearances.”</p>
<p>Clark shook his head. “It does not require
much intelligence to see that you are nearly
worn out. Why,” leaning a little closer, “your
eyes are actually red from crying.”</p>
<p>“You are not very complimentary,” said
Beatrice, vexedly, biting her lip, “and,” drawing
herself up, “just a trifle personal.”</p>
<p>“You mean familiar?”</p>
<p>Beatrice made no answer.</p>
<p>“Well, I plead guilty. Do not be angry with
me. I am only personal because I cannot bear
to see you ill—suffering.”</p>
<p>“Indeed, Mr. Clark, you are mistaken,” she
answered lightly. “There is nothing whatever
the matter with me, except the physical exhaustion
which naturally follows such a tragedy. A
good sleep would be my best tonic. I am going
upstairs now to rest before dinner. Ring for
Wilkins if you wish anything.”</p>
<p>As she moved towards the door Clark put
out his hands beseechingly.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span></p>
<p>“Don’t go; stay just a moment. I so seldom
see you now. Why do you avoid me?”</p>
<p>“<i>You</i> ask me that?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” steadily.</p>
<p>“Your own conscience can answer better than
I.”</p>
<p>“It tells me only of my love for you.”</p>
<p>“You must have it well under control then.”</p>
<p>Clark’s dark eyes flamed. “You doubt my
love, my devotion, after all these months?”</p>
<p>Beatrice faced him squarely, her face showing
white and drawn in the cold electric light.</p>
<p>“Do you call it ‘love’ to torment me day after
day with unwelcome attentions; to use my stepmother
as a lever against me; to poison my
father’s affection for me with lying tales? Do
you think <i>that</i> a way to win a woman?”</p>
<p>Clark’s handsome face paled under Beatrice’s
accusing eyes.</p>
<p>“I deny your charges,” he said, keeping his
self-control with difficulty.</p>
<p>“What is the use?” Beatrice sighed wearily.
“It was owing entirely to your influence
that my home became unendurable. Mrs.
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span>Trevor did everything in her power to force me
to accept you.”</p>
<p>Under his breath, Clark muttered a remark
that was not complimentary to the dead woman.</p>
<p>“Beatrice,” he said, gently, “in your sheltered
life you know little of the temptations, of
the evil of this world. Before I came to your
father, I had knocked about from pillar to post
and been thrown with all sorts and conditions
of men and women. The least said about the
latter the better.” He smiled unpleasantly.
“Then I met you, so kind, so courteous to the
poor secretary. Is it any wonder that I lost
my head, and built castles in the air? As week
followed week my admiration for you changed
to passionate love. God knows, you never gave
me any encouragement. But I have hoped on,
my starved heart feeding on every stray crumb
of attention that you showed me.</p>
<p>“Beatrice, Beatrice, look at me.” He flung
back his head, shaking his black hair off his
broad forehead, his handsome face alight with
feeling; and he drew his well-knit, slender
figure to his full height. “Am I deformed?
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span>Am I hateful to look upon? My darling, my
dear, dear one, give me but a chance.”</p>
<p>Beatrice’s face softened. He was making it
very hard for her. As she hesitated, he caught
the look of pity in her beautiful eyes, mistook
it, and springing forward clasped her in his
arms, showering frantic kisses on her brow,
face and lips.</p>
<p>Desperately Beatrice struggled to free herself.
With superhuman strength she thrust
him from her.</p>
<p>“You coward—you coward!” she cried.</p>
<p>Clark stood a short distance from her, panting
a little from his emotions.</p>
<p>“You coward,” reiterated Beatrice, “to take
advantage of a defenseless woman!”</p>
<p>Slowly the hot blood ebbed from Clark’s face,
and his eyes gleamed wickedly.</p>
<p>“Take care,” he said. “I admit I forgot myself;
but God! you don’t know how I’ve longed
to hold you in my arms; to feel your heart beating
against mine. It was sheer madness; but
the look in your dear eyes went to my head like
wine. I thought I had won.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span></p>
<p>“Do you think that such a cur as you can win
an honest woman’s love?”</p>
<p>“Stop! Don’t go too far. I come of a race
that never forgets an insult. My mother was a
Neapolitan.” He drew a long breath. “That
one moment was worth your hate.”</p>
<p>“My hate!” echoed Beatrice. “Say rather
my loathing!” And she drew her handkerchief
across her lips as if to wipe out the burning
kisses he had showered upon her.</p>
<p>Clark saw the gesture and read its meaning.
The fierce anger in his eyes almost made her
quail.</p>
<p>“So,” he said, as soon as he could speak; “so
I am not good enough to touch you—” He
laughed insultingly. “Bah! you are not worth
my love.”</p>
<p>Shaken and outraged as she was, Beatrice
faced him proudly.</p>
<p>“This scene has gone far enough,” she said.
“Go!”</p>
<p>“Go? Yes, I’ll go.” Clark fairly shook
with rage as he bent towards her. “But be
sure of one thing: I’ll get even, although it
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span>ruins me. Oh, I can do it, too—” seeing her
look of disdain—“for—I know your secret!”</p>
<p>With ashen face and fast beating heart, Beatrice
stood transfixed gazing at Clark’s retreating
figure. As the library door slammed to
behind him, she staggered rather than walked
to the lounge and threw herself face down upon
it.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV<br />
<span class="smaller">HAND AND PIN</span></h2></div>
<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">“A</span>nd</span> so you are no nearer clearing poor
Gordon than you were twenty-four hours
ago?” said Long, thoughtfully.</p>
<p>“Exactly,” answered Dick, glumly. The two
friends were sitting in Long’s room at the New
Willard, and Dick had been giving an account
of his efforts to straighten out the tangled
threads of the Trevor mystery. He was tired
in body, and discouraged in mind. Even the
fragrant Havana he was smoking gave him no
comfort. Then his teeth came together with a
snap, and he threw back his head defiantly. “I
refuse to give up. I’ll find out the truth if it
takes me years!”</p>
<p>“Bully for you, old man. I wish I could help
you.”</p>
<p>“After all, the evidence against Gordon is
simply circumstantial,” argued Dick.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span></p>
<p>“Many men have been convicted on that
alone; and these against Gordon are pretty
damning,” commented Long. “We have already
established a motive for the crime.”</p>
<p>“Hold on. Clark’s statement of Mrs. Trevor’s
marriage to Gordon has never been substantiated.
He simply saw them—”</p>
<p>“Applying for a license. Quite true; but
there is one fact you cannot overlook. Gordon
was infatuated with the murdered woman; for
that I can vouch. He knew her intimately in
London; and yet, you say they greeted each
other as strangers when they met here three
years later.”</p>
<p>“A lot can happen in that time.”</p>
<p>“Very true. But why were they not consistent
in their behavior? Outwardly posing as
mere acquaintances, Mrs. Trevor made an appointment
with Gordon at a most unconventional
hour when she <i>knew</i> her husband would
be absent. Do you think she would have run
the risk of compromising herself if some vital
interest had not been at stake?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span></p>
<p>“Obviously they quarreled—what about we
have yet to find out—and the murder followed.”</p>
<p>Dick shook his head in dissent. “I cannot
reconcile the perpetrator of so frightful a deed
with the Gordon I have known and admired.”</p>
<p>“Mrs. Trevor probably goaded him past human
endurance, and he struck her in a moment
of ungovernable rage.”</p>
<p>“Where did he get the weapon?”</p>
<p>“Very likely Mrs. Trevor left her hat-pin in
her husband’s office some time during the day,
and forgot about it. Gordon may have picked
it up, and toyed with it, all unconscious of the
use he could put it to until the blind moment
came.”</p>
<p>“It may have been no murder at all,” exclaimed
Dick. “Perhaps Mrs. Trevor tripped,
and Gordon, forgetful of the pin in his hand,
tried to catch her and accidentally pierced her
side in a vital spot.”</p>
<p>“Then how did her dead body get into the
safe?”</p>
<p>“Ask me something easy,” groaned Dick.
“Perhaps Gordon, fearing his story of an accident<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span>
would not be believed, thrust her in there
and fled, thinking he would not then be connected
with the affair.”</p>
<p>“How did Gordon get the safe open?”</p>
<p>“Possibly Mrs. Trevor opened the safe before
he got there.”</p>
<p>“Did she know the combination?”</p>
<p>“The Attorney General declares that only he
and Clark knew it.”</p>
<p>The room telephone rang loudly, and Long
hastened to answer it. “Hello! Yes, at the
’phone. Yes; he’s here—all right.” He hung
up the receiver. “It’s a note for you, Dick, so
I told the clerk to send it right up.”</p>
<p>“Thanks. Secretary Bowers advised me to
find out the whereabouts of Clark on the night
of the third,” pursued Dick, tossing his cigar
stub into the ash receiver, “but up to now I’ve
been so busy I have not had a chance.”</p>
<p>“That’s not a bad idea— Come in,” called
Long, as a knock sounded on his door. A district
messenger boy entered.</p>
<p>“Mr. Tillinghast?” he asked. Long motioned
to Dick. “Sign here, sir,” and he extended<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span>
his book and the letter at the same
time.</p>
<p>“How did you know Mr. Tillinghast was
here?” asked Long, idly, as Dick hurriedly
scrawled his name in the place designated.</p>
<p>“The lady at his house told me he was dining
here with you, sir; and as the Attorney General
said it must be delivered at once, I came right
here. I’ve already been paid, sir, thankee, sir,
good night,” and, taking back his book, the messenger
departed.</p>
<p>“I have so many hurry calls that I always
tell Mrs. Brisbane where I am to be found when
I dine out,” explained Dick, tearing open his
note. “Hello! the Attorney General wants to
see me on ‘most important business’ to-night,
if possible. I wonder what has turned up?
Will you excuse me, Chester, if I hurry
along?”</p>
<p>“Sure. It looks as if things might be getting
exciting. I wonder if Trevor hasn’t some clew;
some person in mind whom he suspects?”</p>
<p>“He swears he hasn’t.”</p>
<p>“Could it be that Mrs. Trevor overheard
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span>his interview with the Frenchwoman, became
alarmed at the prospect of discovery as a card
cheat and committed suicide?”</p>
<p>“That’s what de Morny suggested yesterday.
By gracious! I wonder if he knew she cheated
at cards?”</p>
<p>“If he played much with her, he may have discovered
it,” answered Long, dryly. “Who is
this Count?”</p>
<p>“One of the attachés of the French Embassy,”
explained Dick, struggling into his
overcoat. “He and Mrs. Trevor did play often
together, for I have seen them. Can’t afford to
play auction myself, but I drop in for supper at
many of the card parties.”</p>
<p>“There is the same objection to the theory
of suicide as to that of accidental death—how
did her body get into the safe?”</p>
<p>“Trevor might have placed her there, if he
knew she killed herself, to conceal the fact and
make people think it a murder. Otherwise she
could not have been buried in consecrated
ground. They are Roman Catholics, you
know.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span></p>
<p>“He told you that he had forgotten the combination,
and couldn’t open the safe.”</p>
<p>“Somebody must be lying,” answered Dick,
with conviction. “Coming?” as Long started
for the open door.</p>
<p>“Yes; I am going down to the lobby.” The
two men left the room together.</p>
<p>Wilkins was expecting Dick, and showed him
at once into the private office where the Attorney
General was sitting.</p>
<p>“Good evening, Tillinghast. It is good of
you to come,” said he, warmly. “I want to
see you particularly. Sit down and I will explain.”</p>
<p>Dick took the chair pushed toward him, and
waited for the Attorney General to begin.</p>
<p>“My nerve is not what it was,” said Trevor.
“It has been badly shaken by the tragic event
through which I have just passed. Ordinarily
I would not pay any attention to an anonymous
letter. But I confess this one has upset me.”</p>
<p>He opened the secret drawer and took from
it a soiled sheet of paper. “Read this, and tell
me what you think of it.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</span></p>
<p>Dick’s eyes opened wide with astonishment as
he perused the badly written scrawl.</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>If you prosecute the Fabriani Merger as being in
violation of the Sherman Act, you seal your own
Death warrant. You have tasted of our Power.
Take heed to this Warning lest worse should befall
you.</p>
<p class="right2">Remember—February third!</p></div>
<p>Dick examined the letter closely. It was
written on a soiled sheet of cheap, ruled paper,
and the handwriting was evidently disguised.
Towards the bottom of the page were crude
drawings of a black hand, a coffin, and a hat-pin!</p>
<p>“When did you receive this, Mr. Attorney
General?” he asked.</p>
<p>“By the four o’clock post. Wait a moment,”
as Dick started to speak. “The mail was delivered
just as I was leaving the Department to
go to the White House, and I hastily gathered
up what I thought were my personal letters,
leaving the rest of my correspondence for Clark
to look over. I opened this while driving
home.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</span></p>
<p>“Can I see the envelope?”</p>
<p>“Certainly; but I am afraid you will find no
clew there. It is postmarked ‘Times Square
Station, N. Y.,’ and was mailed early this morning.
It is next to impossible to trace anonymous
letters through the post office, for they are
usually mailed at an hour when no one is
about.”</p>
<p>Dick tossed the envelope on the table. There
was nothing to be learned from its ordinary exterior.
It was addressed in the same disguised
writing as the letter.</p>
<p>“Who is Fabriani?”</p>
<p>“An Italian importer. He and two other
Italian merchants have merged their business,
and have crowded out the smaller importers.
Fabriani has resorted to illegal measures to
force his rivals out of business. They have
appealed to the courts to protect them against
the merger.”</p>
<p>“I see.” Dick balanced the letter in his
hand. “Do you think that it is Fabriani who
is trying to intimidate you by making use of a
Black Hand threat?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</span></p>
<p>“It has that appearance. Come,” glancing
keenly at Dick, “what is your opinion?”</p>
<p>“Why, that this rascal Fabriani has concocted
this scheme in his own head and is using
your wife’s tragic death in hopes to check your
actions against his merger. Of course, he may
be a member of the Black Hand. But in the
numerous accounts of murders attributed to
that society some token of the Black Hand has
always been found by the body of the victim.
Besides, I really do not think they would perpetrate
so wanton a crime on so slight a provocation.”</p>
<p>“That would not stop them,” declared Trevor.
“They are a bloodthirsty crew, and when
lust and hate lure them on will commit any
crime.”</p>
<p>“But in this instance they had neither of
those motives,” said Dick, obstinately.</p>
<p>Trevor moved restlessly in his chair. “I
would give much to believe in your theory.”</p>
<p>“What makes you doubt its truth?” asked
Dick, quickly, and he looked searchingly at his
companion.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span></p>
<p>Trevor’s face flushed darkly, and he considered
a moment before replying.</p>
<p>“I have had a long talk with my friend, Secretary
Bowers,” he said finally. “He advised
me to do all in my power to have the
real murderer apprehended; and to that end
thought I should offer a large reward for his
detection. I cannot believe that Mr. Gordon
murdered my wife—cannot, cannot believe
there was a—a—” he stumbled in his speech—“an
affair between them. Whatever her
faults, my wife,” proudly, “was faithful to me.
Nothing will make me believe otherwise. I am
convinced there is an innocent explanation of
their meeting that night.”</p>
<p>“I am sure there is,” exclaimed Dick, heartily.
“And, Mr. Attorney General, I honor
you for the stand you are taking.”</p>
<p>“Thanks, Tillinghast, thanks,” said Trevor,
huskily. “I have been searching vainly for a
clew. This letter,” taking it from Dick, “puzzles
me greatly. On thinking the matter over
I decided to send for you and ask your advice.
Publicity is hateful to me, and I find it easier
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</span>to discuss these details with you, as you
already know so much about my family
affairs.”</p>
<p>“I shall be delighted to be of any service,
sir.”</p>
<p>“I think I told you in our last interview,”
began Trevor, “that my wife and I were married
after a six weeks’ acquaintance. We met
through mutual friends. I know nothing of
her past. I loved her devotedly, and was satisfied
when she told me that my affection was
returned and that she was free to become my
wife. During our happy married life I never
questioned her, being content to live in the
present and let the dead past bury its dead.
But about eight months ago I discovered that
my wife was in deadly fear of one man—” he
hesitated.</p>
<p>“Do go on,” urged Dick, bending forward
in his eagerness. “Did you find out who he
was?”</p>
<p>“He was an Italian.”</p>
<p>“And his name?”</p>
<p>“Giovanni Savelli.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</span></p>
<p>Dick sat back in his chair and stared at the
Attorney General.</p>
<p>“Giovanni Savelli,” he repeated, thoughtfully;
“Giovanni Savelli. Why, he is said to
be one of the heads of the Camorra.”</p>
<p>“Exactly,” replied Trevor, dryly.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV<br />
<span class="smaller">MAN PROPOSES</span></h2></div>
<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">P</span>eggy</span> went to her room that night very
cross and very sleepy. The Patterson
dinner had been a very long and, to her, a very
tedious affair of many courses and numerous
pauses.</p>
<p>“I never before worked so hard to make
conversation,” she confided to her grandmother
in the privacy of her pretty bedroom.
No matter how late Peggy stayed out, she always
found her grandmother awake and waiting
for her when she returned.</p>
<p>When no social engagements took her from
home, Mrs. Macallister, who required very little
sleep, always retired to her own sitting
room about ten o’clock. She dressed in a warm
wrapper and made herself comfortable by her
reading lamp and perused magazines and the
latest novels at her leisure.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</span></p>
<p>“You see, Granny, it was a mixed affair,”
explained Peggy, sitting on the edge of her bed
while she took down and shook out her lovely
“lint white locks,” as Dick called them.
“And one man gave out at the last moment,
so I sat between old Mr. Forsythe and Mrs.
Wheeler.”</p>
<p>“Good Heavens! what a combination!
Were you the only young person present?”</p>
<p>“No; Sybil Ferguson and Tony Forsythe
were across the way from me, and Captain McLane
sat by Mary Patterson. Mrs. Patterson
invited Ned Morgan for me, but, as I said before,
he could not come as he is ill in bed with
grippe.”</p>
<p>“Did you play auction afterwards?”</p>
<p>“Yes. I had miserable luck; everything
went against me,” Peggy sighed with vexation.
“I even drew Mrs. Wheeler as my first
partner. Have you ever played with her?”</p>
<p>“Once!” Mrs. Macallister’s tone spoke
volumes. “Was Ruth Wheeler there, also?”</p>
<p>“No, she went to a débutante dinner given
by the Wilsons. Oh, Granny, I must tell you
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</span>something so funny. During dinner, Mr.
Forsythe leaned across me and asked Mrs.
Wheeler if Ruth enjoyed being out.</p>
<p>“‘She does indeed,’ answered Mrs. Wheeler,
with a beaming smile, ‘and she has been a
great success since her début last December.
Why, Mr. Forsythe, she has already had two
proposals and one hint.’”</p>
<p>“That is just like Maria Wheeler,” laughed
Mrs. Macallister.</p>
<p>“What did you do this evening, Granny?
You read a blood-curdling mystery story as
usual, I suppose.”</p>
<p>“Indeed, I did nothing of the sort. I was
most agreeably entertained by a young man.”</p>
<p>“General de Peyster?”</p>
<p>“I said a young man,” with dignity.</p>
<p>“I give it up, Granny; you have too many
of the male gender anxious to call on you. It
would take me an hour to go through the
list.”</p>
<p>“Tut! child, I am not to be flattered,” but
she smiled quietly, well pleased. She had
queened it too long in salon and drawing-room
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</span>not to know her power. “My visitor this evening
was Count de Morny.”</p>
<p>“Count de Morny! Why, good gracious,
Granny, he was here only this afternoon.”</p>
<p>“I know it,” placidly.</p>
<p>“Why did he come a second time?”</p>
<p>“He came to ask my permission to pay his
addresses to you.”</p>
<p>Peggy dropped her slipper with a thud on
the floor, while the rich, warm blood mounted
to her cheeks.</p>
<p>“And you told him?”</p>
<p>“That he could—yes.”</p>
<p>The clock ticked loudly in the quiet room.
Mrs. Macallister was the first to break the
silence.</p>
<p>“Peggy, look at me.”</p>
<p>Slowly the deep blue eyes were raised to
hers, but the dearly loved face was blurred by
the tears that filled them.</p>
<p>“Granny, Granny, I cannot leave you. Why
need we speak of marriage, we are so happy,
we two?”</p>
<p>“Nonsense, child,” Mrs. Macallister’s tone
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</span>was husky, and she cleared her throat of a suspicious
lump. “Do you think I want you to
be a lonely old maid? No, dear heart, I wish
you to marry a man worthy of you. I want
to see you rich in domestic happiness, so that
when you reach my age and look back over the
past, you can say, as I do: ‘My life has been
one grand Thanksgiving Hymn.’”</p>
<p>It was not often that the stately dame
showed emotion, and Peggy was deeply
touched. She dropped down on her knees and
pressed her cheek against her grandmother’s
as the loving arms met around her.</p>
<p>“Hush, dearie, do not cry.” Mrs. Macallister
rocked her back and forth as she had
been wont to do in her babyhood. “You do
not have to accept Count de Morny if you do
not care for him. I did not think it fair to
either of you to forbid his proposal. He says
he loves you devotedly, and he offers you a
most distinguished name, and a splendid social
position in the Old World. I know nothing
against him, and I like him personally. But,
Peggy, I warn you, de Morny is not a man to
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</span>trifle with. He has a high temper under that
debonair manner. Come, it is late; go to bed,
dear, and do not worry any more. Remember,
I shall not force you into any marriage. The
decision must rest with you. Now, hurry and
undress,” kissing her warmly. “I will come
back and tuck you up in bed.”</p>
<p>Left alone, Peggy went thoughtfully over to
her bureau. She took up a photograph in its
silver frame and studied it long; the Court
dress was becoming to de Morny. Then her
left hand strayed toward a kodak picture, a
snap shot, and she gazed down into a gay,
laughing face, but the lips, which curved in a
merry smile, were well shaped, and the chin determined.
A strong face, and a lovable one; and
the other—Peggy sighed as she put them back
in their places.</p>
<p>Glancing at the clock she was shocked to find
it long after midnight. Hastily picking up her
jewelry, she pressed the spring of her secret
drawer. It opened half-way, then stuck. Slipping
her hand inside the small opening, she felt
about to find the obstruction. A box was jammed
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</span>against the top, and with impatient fingers she
pulled it out breaking the side of the pasteboard
in her effort to get it free. Its contents
fell into the now fully opened drawer. She
picked it up and examined it; then let it fall
as if it scorched her fingers. It was the broken
top of a hat-pin which she had given Beatrice
Trevor that Christmas. She recognized it instantly
because of the curious design in gold
surrounding the cat’s-eye. She picked up the
box. It was the identical one which Beatrice
had entrusted to her care. The twine around
the middle still held; only one end had been
broken.</p>
<p>Merciful Heaven! what had she discovered?
No, it could not be possible—her gentle,
charming friend could not be guilty. It was
too monstrous for belief. And yet, Beatrice’s
intense desire to get the box out of the house,
her quarrel with her stepmother—the doctor’s
testimony that Mrs. Trevor had been killed
by a stab from a hat-pin—all pointed to her
guilt.</p>
<p>With trembling fingers the bewildered and
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</span>over-wrought girl thrust the telltale cat’s-eye
back into the box, put it securely in the drawer,
dropped in her jewelry and snapped the lock.
Then, for the first time in her healthy, happy
life, Peggy fainted just as Mrs. Macallister
re-entered the room.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI<br />
<span class="smaller">PLAYING WITH FIRE</span></h2></div>
<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">I</span>t</span> was a very woe-begone Peggy who came
into the drawing-room the next afternoon,
and Dick looked with consternation at her pale
cheeks and heavy eyelids.</p>
<p>“Peggy! What have you been doing with
yourself?” he exclaimed, detaining her small
hand in his.</p>
<p>“Sit down here,” patting the chair next her.
Dick needed no second bidding. “I could not
sleep—Granny was so upset,” she began,
incoherently, “I simply had to send for you.”</p>
<p>“Is Mrs. Macallister ill?” he demanded.</p>
<p>“Oh, no. I gave her a dreadful fright, that
was all. She found me in my room last night
in a dead faint.”</p>
<p>“Great Heavens!” bending toward her much
alarmed. “My dearest—what—”</p>
<p>“I am all right now; my fainting was caused
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</span>by a shock. I made a terrible discovery. But
before I tell you about it, you must give me
your solemn word of honor not to repeat what
it was.”</p>
<p>Dick gave her the desired promise; then he
listened with growing amazement to her
account of finding the broken hat-pin in the box
Beatrice had entrusted to her care. He drew
a long breath when she finished.</p>
<p>“Rosamond’s Bower can’t be mentioned in
the same breath with this Trevor maze,” he
said. “This discovery of yours, Peggy,
certainly complicates matters more than ever.”</p>
<p>She looked at him with troubled eyes, and
her lips quivered as she answered: “Indeed,
Dick, I cannot think Beatrice knew anything
of this fearful murder, or that she is
implicated in any way in it.”</p>
<p>“Of course not, Peggy,” returned Dick,
soothingly, but there was doubt, black doubt,
in his heart. He remembered the quarrel Wilkins
overheard. “Don’t you think the simpler
way to find out would be to go and ask her!”</p>
<p>“Oh, I couldn’t,” wailed Peggy, wringing
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</span>her hands. “And I would not hurt her now
when she is in such trouble, by letting her think
I have doubted her, and had betrayed her trust.
She would be sure to jump to that conclusion.
Dick,” with sudden energy, “you have just got
to clear her. Think of the suffering of a proud,
delicately reared, and lovable girl being under
the stigma of murder. It would kill her.”</p>
<p>“I’ll do my very best, Peggy,” declared
Dick, stoutly. “I do not need your urging.
Remember all that is at stake for me.”</p>
<p>A bright blush dyed Peggy’s pale cheeks,
and she hastened to change the subject.</p>
<p>“Have you seen Mr. Gordon?”</p>
<p>“No,” vexedly. “Gordon still declines to
see anyone, and his lawyers are equally reticent.
He even refused to allow them to apply
for bail.”</p>
<p>“I thought a man arrested on a charge of
murder was never permitted to be bailed out?”</p>
<p>“Oh, it has been done in the District on
several occasions. I am told Gordon takes the
situation very calmly.”</p>
<p>“My heart aches for him. It is like him to
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</span>face his troubles so bravely. What has the
Navy Department done about him, Dick?”</p>
<p>“Done? Oh, nothing. They cannot take
any steps in the affair until after the Civil
Court decides whether he is innocent or guilty.
Now, Peggy,” he went on, glancing at her sorrowful
face, “I don’t want you to make yourself
ill worrying, so I am going to tell you in
strict confidence that the Attorney General is
convinced that Mrs. Trevor was a victim of
the Camorra. But mind you,” as her face
brightened with relief, “he has no direct evidence,
only surmise and a threat to go upon,
so far. But he is sending for the head of
Pinkerton’s Agency to investigate these clews.
If necessary he will communicate direct with
the Italian Government.”</p>
<p>“That is splendid!” exclaimed Peggy, her
eyes shining with relief. “But then,” again
perplexed, “why should Beatrice secrete the
top of her hat-pin?”</p>
<p>“It is bewildering,” acknowledged Dick.
“Perhaps she accidentally found the broken
pin and did not dare confess that she had it,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</span>thinking it might involve her in further
difficulties with the police.”</p>
<p>“Of course that is it,” agreed Peggy. “Under
the same circumstances I might have done
the same myself. I am so glad I consulted
you, Dick. You have taken a weight off my
mind. Can’t you stay and have tea with
me?”</p>
<p>“I am sorry that I cannot. I must hurry
off. At present I am covering the Russian
Grand Duke’s visit here for an out-of-town
paper, and am to have an interview with his
Chief-of-Staff at five o’clock. If anything else
turns up let me know, and above all—” his
tone was very tender—“take care of your
precious self.”</p>
<p>Her reply was interrupted by Hurley’s quiet
entrance.</p>
<p>“Count de Morny, Miss Margaret,” he
announced, holding back the portière, as the
Frenchman appeared in the doorway.</p>
<p>“Ah, Mademoiselle,” he exclaimed, advancing
with outstretched hand, “it is ze great
plaiser to find zat you are in.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</span></p>
<p>Peggy was instantly conscious of the
restrained antagonism between the two men as
they greeted each other.</p>
<p>“Monsieur Tillinghast and I, like ze great
minds, sink alike,” smiled de Morny. “We
each decide to come here. We shall wear out
ze chairs.”</p>
<p>“To-day it is just how-de-do and good-by,
Count,” said Dick, briefly. “Unfortunately I
must hurry away. Good-by again, Peggy.”</p>
<p>De Morny’s eyes sparkled with anger as he
watched their cordial leave taking. As Dick
disappeared he drew his chair closer to Peggy
and proceeded to improve his opportunity.</p>
<p>“You look fatigue, Mademoiselle,” glancing
keenly at her.</p>
<p>“I have been doing too much,” confessed
Peggy. “Fortunately Lent will be here soon,
and I can then take a much-needed rest.”</p>
<p>“It ees hard to go every night and in ze day
time, too, yes,” sympathized de Morny. “I
nevaire haf known so fas a season. But I like
eet. I feel as keen as a mink.”</p>
<p>“As a what?” questioned Peggy, puzzled.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</span></p>
<p>“As a mink,” complaisantly. “I am ver
happy to-day, Mademoiselle; for Madame, your
<i>grande mère</i>, has given me permission to tell
you how much I lof you.”</p>
<p>Peggy’s heart beat fast, and she crumpled
her handkerchief into a little ball. De Morny
stopped to glare at Hurley, as that solemn individual
came in with the tea tray.</p>
<p>“Will you not gif me some hope,” he
pleaded, as soon as Hurley went out of the
room. “<i>Mon cœur</i>, I adore you; I cannot lif
without you.”</p>
<p>The excited Frenchman bent forward, caught
Peggy’s little hand, and impulsively kissed it
before she could snatch it away.</p>
<p>“Monsieur, monsieur, you go too fast,” she
remonstrated. “You forget that at the
Charity Ball I said I would listen to you and,”
hesitating, “my other friends, only on one
condition.”</p>
<p>“And that condition, Mademoiselle?”</p>
<p>“Is that you find the murderer of Mrs.
Trevor.”</p>
<p>The pupils of de Morny’s eyes contracted
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</span>suddenly. An involuntary shiver ran down
Peggy’s spine as they met hers.</p>
<p>“And zen—what, Mademoiselle?” he asked,
slowly.</p>
<p>“Come and have a cup of tea.” Peggy held
the tongs poised over the sugar bowl. “One
lump, or two, Count? Oh, Granny,” as Mrs.
Macallister walked in, “you are just in time to
have some hot toast and tea.”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII<br />
<span class="smaller">ACROSS THE POTOMAC</span></h2></div>
<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">A</span>fter</span> getting his special story on the
wires, Dick had only time for a hasty
meal at a down-town restaurant. Then he hurried
over to the <i>Star</i> office, and was soon at
work in the city room. About half past nine
his chief sent for him.</p>
<p>“This is the busiest Saturday night we’ve had
in years,” grumbled Colonel Byrd. “You
know Dr. Gibson, superintendent of
St. Elizabeth’s, don’t you?” Dick nodded assent.
“Well, go over there as quick as you can and
see if you can get him to talk. Word has just
come in that two of the criminally insane have
escaped and are still at large terrorizing the
neighborhood. Get all the details, for it is local
news and we will feature it.”</p>
<p>St. Elizabeth’s, The U. S. Government Hospital
for the Insane, is on Nichols Avenue beyond<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</span>
Anacostia. Anacostia, one of the most
beautifully situated suburbs of Washington, is
on the Eastern Branch of the Potomac, and
directly across from the Navy Yard. The
scenery in that vicinity is very fine, and from
the extensive grounds about the Insane Asylum
there is a wonderful view of the winding
Potomac, with Washington and its environs
in the distance.</p>
<p>At no time an accessible place even in
summer, on that stormy night it was a fearful
journey to the Government Reservation; and
Dick prepared for his trip with no great
alacrity.</p>
<p>Some hours later he stopped, footsore and
weary, at the intersection of Sheridan Road
and Nichols Avenue and sought shelter from
the storm on a porch of a vacant house. He
had not only interviewed Dr. Gibson, but, joining
one of the searching parties, had been present
at the capture of the two escaped lunatics.
The pursuit and capture would make a readable
story, so, well satisfied with his night’s
work, he waited patiently to catch the last car
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</span>to Washington, which left at eight minutes
past one o’clock. It lacked fifteen minutes of
that time, so, pulling his coat collar up about
his ears, he made himself as comfortable as
circumstances permitted.</p>
<p>While waiting, his eyes, grown accustomed
to the darkness, discerned a solitary figure
coming toward him from Anacostia. When
opposite Dick the newcomer paused and,
screening himself from the storm behind one
of the porch pillars, struck a match. Holding
it in the hollow of his two hands, he lighted
his pipe. As the tiny flame flared up his face
was visible. Dick, too amazed to speak, drew
back deeper in the shadow of the friendly
porch. With growing curiosity, he watched
the slender figure glide rapidly up Nichols
Avenue. What was Alfred Clark doing in that
neighborhood after midnight?</p>
<p>Dick hesitated. It was obviously his duty to
return to the <i>Star</i> with his story, but a certain
furtiveness in Clark’s movements caused
all doubt to vanish. Throwing his duty to the
winds, he pulled his soft hat low on his head,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</span>scrambled down the steps, and turned up
Nichols Avenue.</p>
<p>Dick picked his way carefully along the
frozen and slippery sidewalk, keeping Clark in
view, but not getting close enough to let him
suspect that he was being shadowed. On and
on they went, past the entrance and the extensive
grounds of St. Elizabeth’s, past the few
straggling houses marking the outskirts of the
little village, and into the more desolate
country beyond.</p>
<p>After about twenty minutes’ walking, Clark
turned into a lane on his right, and going some
distance in the direction of the Potomac River,
he suddenly leaped a fence and struck off
across country. It was not very easy to follow
him in the more open fields, and Dick, fearful
of being discovered, dropped far behind.
On reaching the top of a slight rise in ground
he was dismayed to find that Clark had
disappeared. He glanced about him in every
direction, but save for himself the field was
deserted.</p>
<p>Cursing himself for going on so wild a goose
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</span>chase, he started forward in the direction he
judged Clark might have gone. But his hopes
fell when, after trudging along for ten minutes,
he found no trace of his quarry. Thoroughly
discouraged, he rested for a moment against
a rail fence before retracing his way to
Anacostia. As his eyes traveled over the low,
rolling country, he noticed three trees forming a
triangle standing in a field a quarter of a mile
away. His heart gave a bound; at last he
knew where he was. He could not be mistaken.
He hurried over to the trees; yes, he was right,
they were the tall poplars which he himself
had named “The Three Sisters.” He was on
land belonging to Allan Dorsey. While he had
accompanied Allan there in the summer, he
had never been there in winter or at night.
Allan Dorsey, whose paintings were known the
world over, had purchased the deserted farm
because of the magnificent views which stirred
his artist soul. He would work for days at a
time in solitude, and only Dick was privileged
to come and see him on rare occasions.</p>
<p>“Lord! I wish Allan were there instead of
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</span>in Paris,” thought Dick. “He’d give me a
high ball for the inner man, and a dry suit for
the outer one.” He shivered in his damp
clothes. “May the foul fiend seize that Clark!
I wonder where in thunder he went to.”</p>
<p>As if in answer to his unspoken question, an
idea flashed into his head. The studio! By
Jove! that was it; and yet, what in the name
of Heaven was Clark doing in so deserted and
forsaken a place?</p>
<p>There was but one way to find out and suiting
the action to his thought, Dick walked in
the direction of the old barn which had been
converted into a roomy and up-to-date studio.
It stood some distance from the “Three
Sisters,” hidden from view by a grove of
trees.</p>
<p>Dick cautiously approached the building.
There was no sign of life or human habitation.
The heavy, old-fashioned wooden shutters were
tightly closed, but as Dick bent and placed
his ear against the wide door, he distinctly
heard the sound of several voices. Certain
now that he was on the right track, and his
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</span>curiosity at fever heat, he paused to think over
the situation.</p>
<p>The rain and sleet had stopped some time
before, and the wind was dying down. Suddenly
he thought of the skylight Allan had
built into the roof of the barn to obtain a better
light. If he could climb up there he could
see all that was going on inside the studio.
To think was to act with Dick; his blood was
up and he was determined to see the adventure
through, whatever the consequences. Taking
off his coat and shoes and hiding them behind
a large bowlder, he proceeded to climb a tree
whose limbs stretched out close to the roof of
the barn. He hated to trust his weight to the
slender limb, but there was no other way to
accomplish his object. So, putting his trust in
Providence, he crept along until just parallel
with the chimney, then dropped lightly as a
cat to the shingled roof.</p>
<p>Very gingerly and softly he crawled forward
on hands and knees to the skylight. Gently
he ran his hand over the portion of the glass
frame nearest him. Joy of joys; one of the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</span>panes of glass was out, and his hand passed
through the opening and touched the large Holland
shade which was drawn over the inside
of the skylight. Light was visible around the
edges of the shade; that was all he could
discover. He pulled out his penknife and gently
cut an opening in the green shade, and applied
his eye to the hole.</p>
<p>Seated directly beneath him around a table
were four masked men. Their voices carried
distinctly in the closed room to where he
crouched above them. To his great surprise
they spoke in Italian, a language with which he
was fairly familiar, having studied it with a
view to going into the Consular Service.</p>
<p>The smallest man of the four placed a square
box in the center of the table.</p>
<p>“Draw,” he said briefly. “The one who
gets the marked card is accepted by the
Brotherhood as its Avenger.”</p>
<p>One by one four hands were slipped inside
of the small opening in the end of the box and
silently withdrawn, holding a card at which
each glanced indifferently. Dick could not tell
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</span>from their quiet movements which had drawn
the fatal card. The leader rapped softly on
the table before speaking.</p>
<p>“Our plans are now perfected,” he said.
“There can be no failure. In this country of
the free we, children of the Camorra, can
wreak its vengeance upon those who have
thwarted our society. The Grand Duke Sergius
has seen fit to hound certain of our members
who have come within his power. The
Brotherhood has decreed his death. The
Grand Duke, the President, the great men of
this country, and the Diplomatic Corps will be
assembled five days from now to attend the
dedication of the Lincoln Memorial. No better
opportunity could be found. The means, I
leave to the fortunate holder of the marked
card. Remember—the Place and the Hour.”</p>
<p>Dick could hardly believe his ears. The
Camorra! Surely he was in some mad dream.
So bewildered was he that he missed a few sentences,
but his wandering attention was attracted
by the excited gestures of the masked
man who sat facing the leader.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</span></p>
<p>“You ask for an explanation,” said the latter.
“For that you must apply to Giovanni
Savelli. The Trevor affair is in his hands.
But are you not his direct agent?”</p>
<p>The man’s answer was spoken in so low a
tone that Dick, not catching what he said, bent
far over the skylight, forgetful of the frailness
of the structure. Glass and frame gave way
beneath his weight, and, with a resounding
crash, Dick fell forward into space.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII<br />
<span class="smaller">NIP AND TUCK</span></h2></div>
<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">B</span>efore</span> Dick, half stunned by his fall,
could get upon his feet, the four masked
men threw themselves upon him, and, despite
his struggles, bound him hand and foot. They
cleared away the débris made by him in his
unlucky fall, and placed him in the cleared
space.</p>
<p>“Do you speak Italian?” asked the leader in
fairly good English, as the men, after reconnoitering
outside, returned and grouped themselves
about their prisoner.</p>
<p>“No,” lied Dick, calmly.</p>
<p>“That is not so,” spoke up one of the men
next the leader. “He is a good linguist and
speaks our language fluently.”</p>
<p>Dick recognized the voice despite the mask.</p>
<p>“Clark! You renegade!” he shouted with
sudden fury.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</span></p>
<p>Clark made a hasty move in his direction,
but the leader checked him.</p>
<p>“What matter,” he said, indifferently. “It
will not be long in his power to injure us by
any information he may have picked up to-night.”</p>
<p>The finality of his tone sent a cold shiver
up and down Dick’s spine. Apparently his
doom was sealed. Only a game of bluff might
pull him out of his ghastly predicament.</p>
<p>“Don’t be too certain of that,” he said,
coolly. “Clark, there, can add to the information
he has already given you of me by saying
that I am a representative of the <i>Washington
Star</i>, one of the most influential newspapers
in the country. You know the power
of the press in America.”</p>
<p>His words made a visible impression on the
three men. They glanced uneasily at each
other. The leader spoke hastily and sternly.</p>
<p>“It does not matter who is at your back.
You are in our power and cannot escape the
fate of a spy.”</p>
<p>Dick’s heart sank, but he refused to give up.
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</span>He was fighting for time. Something must intervene.</p>
<p>“I was sent over to follow that man,” pointing
to Clark. “Do you think my disappearance
will not be noticed if I don’t turn up safe
and sound? Well, you are wrong. By noon
to-morrow you will all be in custody; your
precious plans for murdering the Grand Duke
will then be nipped in the bud. Thus, instead
of carrying out the orders of the Camorra you
will be preparing to swing for my death.”</p>
<p>“Your arguments are all very fine, my
friend,” returned the leader composedly, “provided
everything happens as you say. But no
one will know of your disappearance. It is
an easy matter to secure a specimen of your
handwriting, forge a letter from New York to
your employers saying you were called there
suddenly. One of the Brotherhood will impersonate
you on a voyage to Europe. We never
fail in our plans. Months will elapse before
your disappearance will be noticed. You will
never be traced.”</p>
<p>“Sounds well,” commented Dick. “You
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</span>forget I have a very substantial body which is
apt to betray your best laid schemes.”</p>
<p>“It will not be found.”</p>
<p>“Pooh! Murder will out!”</p>
<p>“Not in this instance.” The leader rose and
stepped over into a corner and picked up a
satchel, which he opened. He took out a hypodermic
syringe and a small black leather box
such as surgeons carry. “We have plenty of
disguises with us,” he continued. “You will
be dressed in one of them. Your body will be
found, but it will never be recognized as yours.
In this little vial,” taking it out of the leather
case, “there is a deadly poison. Under its influence
your body becomes bloated and your
features unrecognizable. It will be necessary
to bury you at once, as decomposition follows
fast. Therefore, no lengthy examination can
be made.”</p>
<p>A terrible fear was upon Dick, brave fellow
that he was. He could have faced death by
dagger or revolver without flinching, but this
creeping horror shook his nerve. Despairingly
he glanced about the room; there was no
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</span>help there. His eyes traveled back to the
leader, and, fascinated, he watched him fit on
the hypodermic needle and fill the syringe.
His back and forehead were bathed in a cold
perspiration, and his throat was parched and
dry. He thought of Peggy, his dear, dear love,
and involuntarily a groan escaped him.</p>
<p>“Tut!” said the Italian. “Just a pin prick.
A few twists of your limbs and all will be
over.”</p>
<p>At his signal two of the men tore off Dick’s
left cuff and bared his arm. As the hand holding
the needle hovered above Dick’s wrist, a
shot rang out, and the leader crumpled up and
fell forward over him, the syringe flying across
the room.</p>
<p>“Throw up your hands!” commanded a stern
voice from the broken skylight. The amazed
men looked up into the barrels of four revolvers,
while Dick fainted away.</p>
<p>A few minutes later Dick recovered consciousness.
Dazed and bewildered he looked
at the tall man bending over him, and put out
his hand to push the brandy flask away.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</span></p>
<p>“De Smirnoff!” he gasped. “How in h—l
did you get here?”</p>
<p>“Gently, gently, my friend; drink this
cognac,” and, as Dick complied with his request,
he added, “I am a member of the Russian
Secret Police. It is my special duty to
guard the person of his Imperial Highness, the
Grand Duke Sergius.”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX<br />
<span class="smaller">THE CONFERENCE</span></h2></div>
<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">“H</span>ow</span> my head aches,” groaned Dick, “and
every part of my body.” He touched
himself tenderly as he changed his position on
the lounge.</p>
<p>“It is not surprising,” said Long, dryly,
“after the experience you went through last
night, or rather early this morning. How I
wish I had been with you, instead of sitting
up and chatting small talk with a stuffy dowager.
Just my beastly luck!”</p>
<p>“You are a nice one to begrudge me such
an adventure, after all the fighting you have
seen,” retorted Dick. “I wish you had been
with me, though. Just thinking of that fearful
needle hovering over me sends my heart into
my mouth.” He shuddered. “I never was so
glad to see anyone in my life as de Smirnoff.”</p>
<p>“It was a close shave. Have you had a
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</span>chance to ask the Russian how he came to be
there?”</p>
<p>“No. I was in pretty bad shape, so de
Smirnoff sent me back to town with one of his
assistants. We came directly here. It was
good of you to square me with my chief, Chester,”
looking gratefully at Long. “How did
you do it?”</p>
<p>“After hearing your story I went to see
Colonel Byrd and told him you had stumbled
into an affair of state over in Anacostia which
couldn’t be divulged at present. The old boy
was very decent, took my word for it, and said
you were not to return to work until fit to be
up and doing. Then I returned here, and Mrs.
Brisbane gave me a capital midday dinner.
She told me you did full justice to the share she
sent up to you.”</p>
<p>“Bless her heart! She is the salt of the
earth. As poor as she is, she is always doing
something for her fellow man. Only last week
she sent five dollars to an indigent Southern
friend, who is frightfully hard up, thinking she
would buy some much-needed underclothing.
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</span>She received a note yesterday from the Southerner
saying that she and her daughter were
so obliged for her kind assistance. It had enabled
them to buy a canvasback duck, which
they had wanted for a long time!”</p>
<p>“De Smirnoff said he would drop in this
afternoon,” continued Dick. “He ought to be
here at any moment now,” glancing at his watch.
“I asked Mrs. Brisbane to have him shown
right up.”</p>
<p>“Then I’ll be going.” Long started to rise.</p>
<p>“No, no, Chester; sit down. I particularly
want you to know each other.”</p>
<p>A quick rap interrupted him, and Long hastened
to open the door.</p>
<p>“Here is Count de Smirnoff,” said Mrs.
Brisbane’s cheery voice from the hall. As the
Russian, with innate courtesy stood aside to
allow her to enter first, Dick rose and went
into the hall.</p>
<p>“How are you, Count?” he said, cordially,
and their hands met in a strong, firm clasp.
“Thanks so much, Mrs. Brisbane, for taking
all this trouble. Won’t you both come in?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</span></p>
<p>But Mrs. Brisbane shook her head and disappeared
down the corridor. Dick ushered the
Russian into his room and closed the door.</p>
<p>“Count de Smirnoff—my friend, General
Long,” he said, quickly.</p>
<p>“General Long is well known to me by reputation,”
exclaimed de Smirnoff. “It is a great
pleasure to meet so distinguished an American.”</p>
<p>“I am glad of this opportunity of thanking
you for what you did for my friend, Tillinghast,
last night, Count,” answered Long, shaking
hands warmly; while Dick busied himself putting
cigars and cigarettes on the table alongside
a syphon of vichy and its accompanying
bottle of Scotch.</p>
<p>“I am a poor hand at expressing my feelings,
Count,” said the latter, gravely. “I owe
you a debt I can never repay.”</p>
<p>“If I have won your friendship, I am repaid,”
replied de Smirnoff, looking with admiration
at Dick’s fine, determined face.</p>
<p>The Slav and the Anglo-Saxon have one trait
in common—neither is demonstrative. Long,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</span>seeing that both men were much embarrassed,
broke the awkward pause.</p>
<p>“Suppose, Count, you tell us how you came
to arrive at the studio at so opportune a moment
for Dick.”</p>
<p>“May I speak of confidential matters?”
asked the Russian, glancing hastily about the
room.</p>
<p>“Yes, indeed; there is no danger of our being
overheard.”</p>
<p>“Some months ago our Secret Service Bureau,
which is probably the finest in the world,
received information that the Camorra were
plotting against the Grand Duke’s life,” began
de Smirnoff.</p>
<p>“I thought it was usually the Nihilists who
do that,” interposed Long.</p>
<p>“The hands of the Nihilists, anarchists, the
Mafia, and the Camorra are all raised against
law and order, General; call them what you
will. At present the Camorra desire to punish
the Grand Duke because he was instrumental
in having certain information against their
leaders given to the Italian Government.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</span></p>
<p>“Russia wishes to honor the memory of that
great American, Lincoln, whose friend she was;
therefore, it was decided that the Grand Duke
should come to this country to attend the ceremonies
of the dedication of his Memorial. The
moment they heard this the Camorra leaders
laid their plans to assassinate his Imperial
Highness. I was put on the case, and my researches
brought me here.</p>
<p>“When I reached Washington I communicated
with the Chief of your Secret Service,
and he immediately coöperated with me to safeguard
the Grand Duke. My agents brought
me word that several Italians, disguised as
fruit venders, were spending much time in
Anacostia with a certain Tamaso Velati. I had
my agent point out the latter to me. Despite
his disguise I recognized him as a man long
suspected of having secret dealing with that
society. My suspicions were aroused, and I
placed a watch upon his movements.</p>
<p>“Last night, accompanied by four of your
Secret Service men, I crossed over to Anacostia.
We went to a tavern near the water-front and
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</span>waited for my spy to join me there. He was
very late in keeping his appointment; I was
on the point of starting out after Tamaso without
waiting for him, when he appeared. He
told me that he had traced Tamaso to a deserted
building some miles away, and had
waited about until he saw several men join the
Italian. Thinking some deviltry was to pay,
he hastened back to warn me. He is familiar
with the country about Anacostia, and so took
us by a short cut direct to the studio. The
Italians were so absorbed in dealing with you,
Monsieur Tillinghast, they never heard our
cautious approach. I saw the light shining
above the broken skylight, climbed on the roof
by aid of the tree, and reached the opening just
in time to shoot Tamaso as he bent above you.”</p>
<p>Dick drew a long breath. The agonizing
scene was too fresh in his mind to be pleasant.</p>
<p>“Take a drink,” he said, by way of relieving
his feelings, and he pushed the paraphernalia
towards the Russian. De Smirnoff helped himself
liberally, and the others followed his example.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</span></p>
<p>“What have you done with the prisoners?”
questioned Long.</p>
<p>“Tamaso is to be buried to-morrow. I surrendered
the two Italians to your Chief of the
Secret Service.”</p>
<p>“That accounts for three men; what became
of the fourth?” asked Dick.</p>
<p>De Smirnoff colored with vexation. “He escaped,”
he said, bitterly. Dick swore softly.
“It was this way,” hastily explained the Russian:
“As two of my men forced open the
studio door one of the masked men, who stood
near a window, threw up its sash. The detective
covering him fired, but missed, and before
he could take aim again the prisoner had
pushed open the shutter, vaulted through the
window and was gone. Luck was with him;
every one of our shots went astray, and though
I sent men in pursuit, he made good his escape.
The other two men, cowed by the death of their
leader, gave us no trouble.”</p>
<p>“Were they Italians?” inquired Dick.</p>
<p>“Yes. Why do you ask?”</p>
<p>Dick pondered a moment. Should he take
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</span>de Smirnoff into his confidence? He looked earnestly
at the Russian’s face; the broad brow
and clever, handsome eyes, the slightly aquiline
nose, and the firm, thin-lipped mouth—he looked
what he was: a keen, brilliant officer of the
Secret Service, brave to a fault, secretive perhaps,
but withal a gentleman. Quickly Dick
made up his mind to trust him.</p>
<p>“Because the fourth masked man was an
American,” he answered, slowly. Long, as
well as de Smirnoff, glanced at him in surprise.
“It was Alfred Clark.”</p>
<p>“Well, by gad!” muttered Long, completely
taken aback.</p>
<p>De Smirnoff looked inquiringly at Dick.</p>
<p>“I went to Anacostia to cover an assignment
for my paper,” the latter hastened to explain.
“While I was waiting for a Washington car,
Clark passed me. I never trusted the fellow,
and seeing him there on such a night and at
that hour made me suspect that he was up to
no good. So I followed him, with what results
you already know.”</p>
<p>“Did you overhear much of their talk?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</span></p>
<p>“Enough to know that the men were plotting
to assassinate the Grand Duke at the dedication
of the Lincoln Memorial. Then they spoke of
the Trevor murder.”</p>
<p>“What did they say about it?” asked Long,
as Dick stopped to strike a match.</p>
<p>“If I remember correctly, Clark asked some
question which I did not catch, and Tamaso
replied: ‘The Trevor affair is in the hands of
Giovanni Savelli. But are you not his direct
agent?’ In trying to hear Clark’s reply I
leaned too far forward and fell through the skylight.</p>
<p>“Now,” went on Dick earnestly, “this fits in
with a Black Hand threat the Attorney General
received on Friday afternoon. He is convinced
the Camorra is responsible for his wife’s
murder, chiefly because he knows she lived in
fear of this Giovanni Savelli. He doesn’t know
why she feared him. The Black Hand letter
spoke of the Fabriani Merger, but that looks to
me like a blind to throw him off the trail. Can
you tell me, Count, the best way to get track of
this Savelli?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</span></p>
<p>De Smirnoff leaned thoughtfully back in his
chair and considered the question.</p>
<p>“It seems to me,” he said finally, “that the
person you need to put your hands on is Monsieur
Clark. You heard Tamaso say that he
was Savelli’s direct agent in the affair.”</p>
<p>Dick sat up as straight as his sore body
would permit, and swore fluently. “Of course,
you are right. What a blundering fool I have
been.”</p>
<p>“You were in no condition to reason out
clews last night, Monsieur,” smiled de Smirnoff,
consolingly.</p>
<p>“I am sure your theory is right,” argued
Long. “Clark must be the guilty man. He
knew the combination of the safe, and he also
knew when certain inmates of the house would
be absent.”</p>
<p>“It looks plausible,” agreed Dick. “Clark
may have joined the Camorra while in Naples.
But he must have been very deeply involved to
commit murder for this Savelli.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps Monsieur Clark is using the Camorra
to shield his own deed,” suggested de
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</span>Smirnoff, slowly. “We, in the Secret Service
keep in touch with every country in the world.
I recollect now that this Alfred Clark, of whom
you speak, was a resident in Naples for many
years. He did not have a very savory reputation.
Madame Trevor, or as she was then,
Hélène de Beaupré, spent several winters in
that city. Monsieur Clark, before he lost his
money, was her devoted lover.”</p>
<p>Long bent forward and helped himself to
Scotch and vichy.</p>
<p>“The plot thickens,” he said, laconically.</p>
<p>De Smirnoff nodded his head. “I must take
steps to have this Monsieur Clark apprehended,”
he said. “According to Count de
Morny, Madame Trevor,” he raised his glass
and examined its contents critically, “Madame
Trevor was not—a good woman.”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX<br />
<span class="smaller">CASTING OF NETS</span></h2></div>
<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">D</span>ick</span> was awakened out of a sound sleep
the next morning by a loud banging on
his door.</p>
<p>“Come in,” he shouted, sleepily; then, realizing
that the disturber of his peace could not
crawl through the keyhole, he scrambled out of
bed, unlocked the door and jerked it open.</p>
<p>“I ax yo’ pardon, Marse Dick,” said Uncle
Andy, bowing and scraping on the threshold,
“but dis hyer note done come fo’ yo’, an’ de
bearer am waitin’ fo’ an answer, sah.” As he
spoke he handed Dick a sealed envelope and a
small package.</p>
<p>“Wait a minute, Uncle, and I’ll see what
it’s about,” and Dick, going inside his room,
plumped himself down on the edge of his bed
and tore open the note. Not recognizing the
bold, clear writing, he turned at once to read
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</span>the signature on the last page. It was from
Beatrice Trevor. With quickened interest, he
read the few lines.</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p class="no-indent"><i>Dear Mr. Tillinghast</i>:</p>
<p>My father tells me that you are doing your best to
clear up the terrible mystery which surrounds our
house. I am in great trouble. I must see you.</p>
<p>I am going to dine alone with Mrs. Macallister to-night.
Will you come there at eight o’clock? I have
told Wilkins to wait for your answer.</p>
<p class="right">Sincerely yours,<br />
<span class="smcap right3">Beatrice Trevor</span>.</p>
<p>P. S. Wilkins tells me the accompanying package
belongs to you.</p></div>
<p>“Thank the Lord!” ejaculated Dick, aloud.
“Your note’s a direct answer to my unspoken
wish. You want to see me, Miss Beatrice, but
I bet not half so badly as I want to see you.
But what does your postscript mean?”</p>
<p>Taking up the small package he looked doubtfully
at it. “Best way to find out is to open
it,” he muttered, tearing off the string and
wrapping paper. It proved to be a small pasteboard
box, and on lifting the cover he saw his
broken cuff link lying inside on some cotton.
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</span>It was unmistakable. The round gold button
with his interwoven initials “R. T.” stared him
in the face.</p>
<p>With a startled cry, he sprang up and pulled
out his white waistcoat from the half-opened
bureau drawer. Quickly his fingers fumbled in
the little pocket—yes, there it was, just where
he had put it four nights before. In growing
excitement, he jerked out his fingers and disclosed
not his broken cuff button, but a round
coin attached to a broken, golden link!</p>
<p>With open mouth, and eyes fairly popping
from his head, Dick contemplated the two links,
while his bewildered mind gradually pieced together
the scene in the hall. It was not surprising
he had made such a mistake, the two
were identical in size; and in the semi-darkness
of the large hall and his hurry he had never
glanced at the recovered cuff button, but had
taken it for granted it was the piece of jewelry
he had dropped.</p>
<p>As busy as he was, he had not troubled to get
his broken set mended. He had used a second
pair the next morning; and this was, therefore
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</span>the first time he had thought of the broken set
since thrusting the button into his waistcoat
pocket.</p>
<p>Taking up the coin, he examined it closely.
It was apparently very old; the edges were
worn thin and the hieroglyphics on the two
sides were so defaced he could make nothing of
them. It was attached by a swivel to the heavy
red-gold link. The link itself was worn at the
rough ends, but still it must have been a powerful
wrench which had caused it to break off.
To Dick it looked like a link torn from a watch chain;
and an unusual one at that, for the outer
side was delicately etched in some intricate design.
Pshaw! What was the use of puzzling
his brains, Wilkins could tell him all about it;
and with the thought Dick walked over to the
closed door, and, opening it, looked into the corridor.
But Uncle Andy, tired of waiting, had
gone about his work. There was nothing for it
but to go to the back stairs and “fetch a
yell” for the old darky, as the ancient house
boasted of no bell except the one to the front
door.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</span></p>
<p>Mrs. Brisbane answered Dick’s stentorian
shout from the kitchen, where she had gone to
superintend the cooking of the Maryland beaten
biscuits for the morning meal.</p>
<p>“What is it, Dick?” she called.</p>
<p>“Oh, good morning, Mrs. Brisbane. Will
you please ask Uncle Andy to show the messenger
up to my room. Thanks, ever so much.”
And Dick retreated hastily, conscious of his
pajamas as a female boarder thrust her head
out of the door to find out what the noise was
about.</p>
<p>He was busy writing at his desk when Wilkins’
discreet tap sounded on his door, and at
his bidding the butler entered and closed the
door behind him.</p>
<p>“Good morning, Wilkins; sorry to keep you
waiting, but I was delayed.”</p>
<p>“Morning, sir. That’s all right, sir. Miss
Beatrice wanted me to be sure and see you received
her note, and told me to come over here
before you left for your office. I was to be particular
and get an answer.”</p>
<p>“I am writing it now. I’m much obliged to
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</span>you for returning my cuff link. By the way,
where did you find it?”</p>
<p>“I didn’t find it, sir. The second man took
up the large rug near the fireplace to shake it
in the yard yesterday morning and saw the bit
of jewelry lying under one corner. He brought
it to me, and as I knew you had broken your
cuff button, sir, I was pretty sure it was
yours.”</p>
<p>“Quite right, Wilkins, and here’s a small
token of my thanks,” handing the butler some
change. And as the man thanked him profusely,
Dick held up the coin, and asked:
“Who does this belong to?”</p>
<p>Wilkins stared at it in astonishment. “I
don’t know, sir.”</p>
<p>“Oh, come, Wilkins, I picked it up in the hall
under the armor the other night, thinking it
was my cuff link. Surely, you know who owns
it?”</p>
<p>Wilkins turned it over curiously in his hand;
then shook his head. “I have never seen it before,
sir,” he said, positively.</p>
<p>Dick sat for a few moments thoughtfully
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</span>nibbling his pen. He recollected that the Attorney
General’s watch chain was a plain gold
affair, very different from the link in his hand.</p>
<p>“Did Mrs. Trevor, or perhaps Miss Beatrice,
have a chain like it?” he asked. “Women wear
such peculiar gewgaws nowadays.”</p>
<p>But Wilkins stuck to his guns. “No, sir,
they didn’t. It’s an uncommon thing, and I’m
sure I’d ’a’ remembered it if I had ever seen
either of them wear such a thing,” he stubbornly
declared. “Some guest must have
dropped it, though I dunno how it stayed so
long unnoticed.”</p>
<p>Dick looked at Wilkins queerly. A sudden
thought had entered his active brain ...
by Heaven!... Suppose....</p>
<p>“Has the front hall been swept since the murder
of Mrs. Trevor?” he asked.</p>
<p>Wilkins looked bewildered. “We don’t
sweep it, sir,” he answered. “It is a hard
wood floor, sir. The different rugs in the hall
are shaken and gone over by a vacuum cleaner
every day. We oiled the entire floor, sir, the
morning after the supper for Madame Bernhardt.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</span>
If the gold link had been there <i>then</i>, sir,
we would have found it.”</p>
<p>“The morning after? Why, that was the
third—Mrs. Trevor was murdered that same
night?”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir,” stolidly.</p>
<p>“Does Mr. Clark, the secretary, own such a
chain?”</p>
<p>“No, sir; he always wears a fob.”</p>
<p>“At what hour did Mr. Clark leave the house
the day Mrs. Trevor was killed?”</p>
<p>“Why, I suppose about the usual time, sir,
five o’clock.” Wilkins hesitated. “I really
don’t know the exact time because I didn’t see
him go, sir.”</p>
<p>“Well, ask the other servants if they know,
and then send me word. But don’t rouse comment
by too many questions, Wilkins. I’ll
make it worth your while if you get that information
on the quiet.”</p>
<p>Wilkins hesitated a perceptible moment.
“It wouldn’t be much use asking them, sir.
Mr. Clark can run in and out of the house at
any time,” he volunteered, finally. “He has a
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</span>front door key. Mrs. Trevor said she couldn’t
have the front bell rung so often, and asked
the Attorney General to give him an extra
key.”</p>
<p>Dick looked thoughtfully at Wilkins, but the
butler’s expressionless face told him nothing.</p>
<p>“Was Mr. Clark with the Attorney General
yesterday?”</p>
<p>“No, sir; I don’t think he has been to the
house since Friday afternoon. I heard Mr.
Trevor tell Miss Beatrice he had been called
away on business.” He paused, and looked
suggestively at the clock. Dick signed his note
and hastily sealed the envelope. And he was
on the point of handing it to the butler when
Secretary Bowers’ advice about the missing
memorandum book occurred to him.</p>
<p>“Can you tell me, Wilkins, how Mrs. Trevor
and Miss Beatrice spent the afternoon of the
third?”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir. Mrs. Trevor was at home receiving
callers, for Wednesday is Cabinet Day, you
know, sir. Mrs. Trevor never served refreshments
except at private teas, so I spent the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</span>afternoon in the hall with the footman helping
her guests with their coats and wraps. Miss
Beatrice went out directly after luncheon and
didn’t return until about five o’clock, sir.”</p>
<p>“Did she join her stepmother?”</p>
<p>“Not at once, sir; she first went into the
private office and took off her wraps. After
that she went into the drawing-room.”</p>
<p>“Was anyone else in the office at that
time?”</p>
<p>“No, sir.”</p>
<p>“How long did she stay there?”</p>
<p>“About fifteen minutes, sir. Mrs. Trevor
sent me to ask her to come into the drawing-room
as Mrs. Macallister wished to see her.”</p>
<p>“What was Miss Beatrice doing when you
entered the office?”</p>
<p>“Sitting at her father’s desk, sir, and writing.”</p>
<p>“Had—had she a memorandum book in her
hand?” asked Dick hesitatingly. So much depended
on the answer.</p>
<p>“I didn’t see any such book, sir,” answered
Wilkins, surprised. “After I gave her Mrs.
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</span>Trevor’s message, Miss Beatrice picked up her
hat and fur coat and went immediately out of
the room.”</p>
<p>“What did she do with the papers on which
she was writing?”</p>
<p>“She stuffed them inside the pocket of her
fur coat, sir.”</p>
<p>“Could you see what she had been writing?”</p>
<p>“No, sir; I couldn’t.”</p>
<p>“Well, I won’t detain you any longer, Wilkins.
Here’s the note for Miss Beatrice. By
the way, were Mrs. Trevor and Mr. Clark good
friends?”</p>
<p>“Not always, sir.” Then, seeing Dick’s surprise,
Wilkins hastened to add: “Mrs. Trevor
had a very quick temper. Many’s the time I’ve
nearly given notice on account of her hasty way
of finding fault. She and Mr. Clark were very
thick, that is,” stumbling in his speech, “good
friends like. Mr. Clark had eyes for nobody
but Miss Beatrice, and he and Mrs. Trevor
often had words over her. They had several
nasty quarrels last month, sir. Is—is that all,
sir?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</span></p>
<p>“Yes. I’m very much obliged to you, Wilkins,”
replied Dick, heartily. “Good day.”</p>
<p>“Good day, sir,” answered Wilkins. He
stopped for a moment on the other side of the
door to scratch his head in perplexity. “He’s
a rum cove, wonder what he’s up to.”</p>
<p>Dick wondered very much himself. It was a
case of the blind leading the blind. If Clark
was guilty, and certainly suspicion pointed his
way, why should Beatrice hide the hat-pin?
Above all, who had dropped the broken gold
link in the Trevors’ front hall? More and
more puzzled by the facts which he had elicited
from the communicative Wilkins, he dressed
with what speed he could, and, not waiting for
breakfast, ran across to the corner drug store
and rang up a taxi-cab. While waiting he telephoned
to Peggy and then to Mrs. Curtis.
Both of them told him they had never owned a
chain of any description with such a coin attached
to it.</p>
<p>The taxi-cab was not long in coming, and he
was whirled away to the Treasury Department
as rapidly as the speed laws of the District allowed.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</span>
On his arrival there he went direct to
the Secret Service Division, and on mentioning
his name and errand he was at once taken to
Chief Connor.</p>
<p>“I won’t take up a moment of your time,
Chief,” explained Dick, as the two men sat
down.</p>
<p>“Count de Smirnoff told me of your share in
the capture of the three Italians on Saturday,”
said the famous Secret Service man. “What
can I do for you?”</p>
<p>“Did the Count tell you the identity of the
fourth man?”</p>
<p>“Yes. Apparently Clark realized the game
was up, for on inquiry at the Buckingham we
learned that he hasn’t been to his room since
Saturday afternoon. I have sent a description
of him to every Secret Service man in the country,
and have also had the trans-Atlantic steamship
lines watched. We shall catch him, never
fear, but I am afraid he will get off afterwards.
Conspiracy is a mighty hard thing to
prove.”</p>
<p>“I am convinced you can hold Clark for another<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</span>
crime,” said Dick slowly. Chief Connor
looked at him in surprise.</p>
<p>“As for instance?” he asked.</p>
<p>“Mrs. Trevor’s murder.”</p>
<p>“Indeed!” The Chief sat back and pulled
his mustache thoughtfully. “And your
grounds for such a charge?”</p>
<p>“Clark is the one person beside the Attorney
General who can open the safe. Mrs. Trevor’s
body, you may remember, was found locked inside
it. The burglar, Nelson, declares on oath
that she was there when he opened the safe.
According to the butler, who has lived with the
Trevors for over twenty years, Clark and Mrs.
Trevor quarreled often. He had a key to the
Trevors’ front door, so that he could enter
without anyone in the house being the wiser.
And,” added Dick, “he knew where every member
of the household would be on that night.
Then the Camorra had evidently decreed her
death; Clark was said to be their direct agent
in the affair.”</p>
<p>“And his motive for killing Mrs. Trevor?”</p>
<p>“Count de Smirnoff informed me Clark was
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</span>an old lover of hers in Naples. I know that he
has been paying great attention to Miss Trevor.
Possibly he did not take the precaution of being
off with the old love before being on with the
new.”</p>
<p>Chief Connor followed Dick’s arguments
closely.</p>
<p>“Circumstantial evidence does point toward
him,” he admitted. “There is no doubt that
Clark is a pretty thorough-going rascal. Have
you tried to find out where he was on the night
of the third?”</p>
<p>“Not yet. I came to find out if Clark had
been arrested, to tell you of my suspicions, and
to ask your advice in the matter.”</p>
<p>“My men are busy now tracing Clark’s
career. If they discover any facts which point
to the murder I will send for you. In the meantime,
haven’t you a mutual friend who would
know something of Clark’s life here?”</p>
<p>Dick’s face brightened. “Of course, there’s
Charlie Archibald; he knows Clark pretty well.
Charlie works in the Department of Justice.
I’ll go right over there.” He rose as he spoke.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</span></p>
<p>“Let me know the result,” said Chief Connor.</p>
<p>“All right, sir. Many thanks for your suggestion.
Good-by.” And he hastened out of
the building.</p>
<p>“The chase is getting warm,” thought Dick,
as the taxi turned and started up Fifteenth
Street. “If only—only Peggy meant what she
said. Well, here’s for another try,” and he
opened the door just as the car drew up in front
of the Department of Justice.</p>
<p>Dick hastily threaded his way through the
busy rooms searching for his friend.</p>
<p>“Hello, Charlie, you’re a sight for sair een,”
he hailed. “Where have you been keeping
yourself?”</p>
<p>“Oh, boning for an exam,” said Archibald,
his tired face lighting up with a smile. “You
look as if the world were treating you pretty
well, Dick?”</p>
<p>“Nothing to boast of. Say, Charlie,” drawing
him to one side and speaking in a low
tone, “can you tell me anything about Alfred
Clark?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</span></p>
<p>“Tell you anything about him?” echoed
Archibald, surprised. “Well, no, not much;
he’s a quiet sort of chap, keeps himself pretty
much to himself, not a good mixer with the boys.
I’ve seen more of him than the others because
he’s lending me a hand in my studies for the
District Bar examination.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps you can tell me where he was on
the night of the third?”</p>
<p>“The third,” repeated Archibald. “What
the deuce was I doing that night? Wait a moment.”
He took out a memorandum book and
turned the leaves rapidly. “22nd January—1st
of February—ah, here we are—‘study with
Clark.’ Of course, I remember now. That
night I went over to his rooms at the Buckingham,
to go over some papers with him. He has
often told me to go up to his room and wait if
he wasn’t there; and so I sat waiting and waiting
until after midnight, but he never showed
up. Then I cleared out.”</p>
<p>“Did he ever tell you what detained
him?”</p>
<p>“Nope, just said he forgot the engagement.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</span></p>
<p>“Do you know where Clark generally spends
his time when not working?”</p>
<p>“He used to be with the Trevors all the time.
He is quite a lady killer, you know.” Dick
shivered involuntarily, while his unconscious
friend went on. “He is society mad, but lately
he’s not been like himself. It may be money
troubles; he plays the races and has been a
heavy loser. I know because I made him a
small loan, and lately the money lenders have
been pressing him for payments.” He looked
curiously at Dick. “Why do you want to know
all this? You and Clark never hit it off very
well.”</p>
<p>“I’ll explain some other time. Many thanks,
old man. By-by,” and Dick turned and ran
down the corridor after the Attorney General,
who had just entered the building.</p>
<p>“How are you, Tillinghast?” said he, cordially,
as Dick brought up breathless before
him. “Want to see me?”</p>
<p>“Only to ask you one question.” As he
spoke, he took the gold coin out of his pocket.
“Have you ever seen this before, sir?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</span></p>
<p>The Attorney General examined the coin with
interest, then handed it back to Dick.</p>
<p>“Never laid eyes on it before,” he said.
“Why do you ask?”</p>
<p>But Dick never waited to reply; he was off
down the corridor as fast as his legs could take
him.</p>
<p>“District Building,” he called to the chauffeur
as he jumped inside and slammed the door.</p>
<p>Detective Hardy was reflecting on his week’s
work with great satisfaction when Dick burst
hurriedly into his office.</p>
<p>“Time’s up, Hardy,” he said, coolly.
“Come, divulge your news.”</p>
<p>Hardy smiled indulgently. He could afford
to tease Dick a little.</p>
<p>“News in regard to what, sir?”</p>
<p>“Who killed Mrs. Trevor?”</p>
<p>“That’s rather a large order,” smiled the
detective.</p>
<p>“Well, I’ll amend the question. Who do you
<i>think</i> killed Mrs. Trevor?”</p>
<p>Hardy’s eyes flashed with anger. He hated
to be made fun of, especially by a young “Mr.-Know-It-All,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</span>
and he instantly determined to
take the wind out of his sails.</p>
<p>“It isn’t a case of ‘think,’ Mr. Tillinghast; I
have absolute proof.”</p>
<p>“Against whom?”</p>
<p>“Miss Beatrice Trevor.”</p>
<p>“Oh, nonsense!” exclaimed Dick, roughly.
But his heart sank as he thought of the hat-pin
and Beatrice’s endeavor to secrete it. Should
he confide in Hardy? His conscience pricked
him. Undoubtedly the detective should be told.
But he had given his word to Peggy to shield
her friend; let the consequences be what they
might, he would keep it.</p>
<p>“Nothing of the sort,” retorted Hardy.
“We know they had a bitter quarrel; she
threatened to strike her stepmother.”</p>
<p>“Pooh! If we believe everything an angry
woman says—” Dick shrugged his shoulders
expressively. “Their bark is worse than their
bite, Hardy.”</p>
<p>“Maybe so, but not in this instance.”</p>
<p>“Next?” questioned Dick, with a tantalizing
smile.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</span></p>
<p>“Her maid—” began Hardy, then checked
himself. “Look here, sir; this is absolutely
private, it must not get into the papers until I
say so.”</p>
<p>“Sure; I’ll keep absolutely mum.”</p>
<p>“I’ve made myself solid with Suzanne, Miss
Trevor’s maid. Nothing like using a little tact
in that direction, sir,” chuckled Hardy. “Anyway,
she told me that a handsome, strong (mind
you, <i>strong</i>) hat-pin that was given to Miss
Beatrice by Miss Macallister is missing. Wait
a moment,” as Dick opened his lips to speak.
“Suzanne says Miss Beatrice wore it that afternoon,
and when she came in went into the private
office and took off her hat there, later,
carrying it up to her room, but she didn’t have
the hat-pin with her, because Suzanne asked her
where it was when she put her coat and hat
away. Miss Beatrice made no reply, and
shortly after went downstairs to dinner. Suzanne
never saw the hat-pin again. She remembers
it distinctly because of the curious
design of the gold about the cat’s-eye in the
top.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</span></p>
<p>“See here, Hardy, that’s not much to go on.
You haven’t found the weapon remember, and
therefore cannot prove it belonged to Miss
Beatrice. Secondly, Mrs. Trevor was found
locked in the safe, not on the floor.”</p>
<p>“Quite true, sir. But you must recollect that
Mrs. Trevor was a small, slender woman. I
don’t believe she weighed over one hundred and
twenty-five pounds.”</p>
<p>“I know; but a relaxed body is a mighty
heavy, unwieldy thing to lift.”</p>
<p>“Miss Trevor is tall and strong,” said
Hardy, dryly. “She is a fine tennis player, a
good fencer, and is also a magnificent cross-country
rider. It wouldn’t be much exertion
for her to get Mrs. Trevor into the safe, which
was a short distance away.”</p>
<p>Dick shook his head. “I can’t agree with
you, Hardy.”</p>
<p>The detective leaned toward Dick and raised
his hand impressively.</p>
<p>“Listen to me, sir. Her initialed handkerchief
with blood stains upon it was found in the
safe near the body.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</span></p>
<p>Dick stared with unbelieving eyes at the triumphant
detective.</p>
<p>“You are crazy,” he said, tersely. “In the
first place, Doctor Davis said no blood was
visible on Mrs. Trevor’s outer garments. Then
all the witnesses, including yourself, testified
at the inquest that nothing had been found
either in the safe or in the room.”</p>
<p>“I have just seen Doctor Davis,” explained
Hardy, patiently. “He said that undoubtedly
some blood must have spurted out on the murderer’s
hand when the foul blow was struck.
Secondly, we didn’t find the handkerchief. It
was brought to me by a person who said his
conscience would no longer permit him to keep
the matter secret. He had held back the information
to protect Miss Trevor; but now,
convinced of her guilt, he could no longer shield
her.”</p>
<p>“And may I ask the name of this—this
shrimp?” asked Dick, boiling with rage.</p>
<p>“Certainly. Alfred Clark, the secretary!”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI<br />
<span class="smaller">FORGING THE FETTERS</span></h2></div>
<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">D</span>ick</span> sat back in his chair and glowered at
Hardy.</p>
<p>“Do you know that your informant is at present
a fugitive from justice?” he asked.</p>
<p>“What!” cried the detective, springing to his
feet in his surprise.</p>
<p>“It’s a fact,” declared Dick. “The Secret
Service men are after him. I expect to hear of
his arrest at any moment.”</p>
<p>Hardy sank back in his chair and mopped his
red face. He had very much the appearance of
a pricked gas balloon.</p>
<p>“Would you mind putting me wise?” he
asked, finally. “I’ve been so busy shadowing
Miss Trevor, I am all in the dark about Clark.
The Secret Service Bureau haven’t notified us
yet. I suppose they want him for some Government
business.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</span></p>
<p>In a few terse sentences Dick told him of his
interview with Chief Connor, and of the evidence
he had collected against Clark. At the
end Hardy swore with fluency and ease.</p>
<p>“What a blank—blank—fool I’ve been to be
taken in by that scoundrel,” he gasped.
“Then this handkerchief business is only a plan
to throw dust in my eyes.”</p>
<p>“I think so,” agreed Dick. “Clark evidently
wanted to turn suspicion against Miss
Trevor, so manufactured this evidence. It was
probably an easy matter for him to pick up one
of Miss Trevor’s handkerchiefs; as a rule
women shed them wherever they go. Then he
pricked his arm, or made his nose bleed so as
to get blood stains on it. Depend upon it,
Hardy, he is your man.”</p>
<p>“You are right, sir,” exclaimed Hardy, banging
his fist on the table. “Now that you have
shown me the way, I’ll bring the murder home
to him, or bust. Here, Johnston,” to a plain
clothes officer who had just entered the office,
“get your hat and come on.”</p>
<p>Dick left the two detectives at the main entrance<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</span>
of the District Building and rushed
down to the <i>Star</i>. After a satisfactory interview
with Colonel Byrd, he hastened to his desk
where he found an accumulation of work waiting
for him. But, as it happened, that particular
work was never finished by him, for at
that moment a District messenger boy handed
him a note, the contents of which surprised him
very much. It read:</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p class="no-indent"><i>Dear Dick</i>:</p>
<p>Get over here as quick as you can. Must see you.
Most important.</p>
<p class="right2">Yours in haste,<br />
<span class="smcap right3">Tom Blake</span>.</p></div>
<p>Blake the phlegmatic—Blake the most easy-going
and laziest of clubmen! Dick wondered
what was to pay as he closed his desk and got
his overcoat and hat. After a few words of explanation
to Colonel Byrd, he left the office and
hastened up to Stoneleigh Court.</p>
<p>Blake’s apartment on the sixth floor faced
on Connecticut Avenue, but from the side windows
there was a magnificent view of the
White House grounds and the Washington
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</span>Monument, whose wonderful white shaft seemed
to float aloft, detached from the solid earth, a
part of the fleecy clouds themselves; while still
farther to the south a glimpse of the Potomac
River could be caught now and then as it
twisted and turned along the Virginia and
Maryland shores.</p>
<p>Dick had plenty of time to admire the view
before Tom made his appearance, dressed immaculately.</p>
<p>“Sorry to keep you waiting, old man, but I
had to shift after traveling all night, first getting
some sleep; never closed my eyes all night
in a beastly upper berth. Lunch ready, Lambert?”
as his man came to the door. “All
right, come along, Dick.”</p>
<p>Dick sighed with satisfaction, as he helped
himself to a juicy piece of beefsteak and some
French fried potatoes. He was almost famished,
and Tom was in like condition. For a
short time conversation languished while they
both attended to the wants of the inner man.</p>
<p>“Where have you been, Tom?” Dick finally
asked, helping himself to a hot muffin.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</span></p>
<p>“Philadelphia,” answered Tom, his speech
somewhat impeded by a large mouthful which
he, with difficulty, swallowed in a hurry. “I
had to go over there to see about the strike in
the Warren textile mills. I’m a big stockholder
in the concern, so had to take an interest
in the blooming business. Can’t say I was
much help; couldn’t seem to understand the
rights of the row. Far as I could make out,
the workers wanted more wages.”</p>
<p>“Most people do,” interrupted Dick, laughing.</p>
<p>“I know, but the business doesn’t warrant a
raise, hasn’t paid a dividend for months. The
strikers claim they can’t even buy the necessities
of life at the present scale of wages. The
whole trouble is, no one knows nowadays what
are necessities and what luxuries, and no one
attempts to live without them both.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I could exist without the necessities if
someone supplied me with all the luxuries,”
laughed Dick. “But seriously, Tom, why did
you send me this urgent note?”</p>
<p>Tom beckoned to Lambert. “Put the cigars
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</span>and coffee on the table, and don’t wait.” He
remained silent until his order had been swiftly
obeyed, then continued, “While I was in Philadelphia,
Dick, I saw your brother John.”</p>
<p>“How’s the dear old chap?” inquired Dick,
much pleased to get first-hand information, as
he and his brother were poor correspondents.</p>
<p>“Looking finely, but, of course, as busy as
ever. Never saw such a man for work,” grumbled
Tom. “He told me he was on the point
of coming to Washington, when he read in the
papers that I was at the Bellevue-Stratford.
Therefore, he decided to consult me instead of
you.”</p>
<p>“What did he consult you about?”</p>
<p>“The Trevor murder.”</p>
<p>Dick straightened up in his chair. “What
on earth induces him to take a particular interest
in that?”</p>
<p>“In the first place he knows you are investigating
the murder, having read your signed
despatches to the <i>Inquirer</i>. Secondly, he feels
that he is holding back some information which
may help to elucidate the mystery. He confided<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</span>
certain facts to me, first making me
promise to tell no one but you.”</p>
<p>“What did he tell you?” eagerly demanded
Dick.</p>
<p>“That Beatrice Trevor and Donald Gordon
were married on the first of January.”</p>
<p>His startling news had more effect on his
friend than Tom expected. For a moment
Dick felt physically ill, and the dishes on the
table whirled up and down.</p>
<p>“Here,” exclaimed Tom, startled by his
white face. “Take some whisky, quick!” He
poured out a liberal portion. “There, that will
soon set you up.”</p>
<p>“Are you sure there is no mistake?” asked
Dick, imploringly.</p>
<p>“Absolutely positive,” answered Tom,
gravely. “Your brother and I both realize
the scandal that must follow if the secret leaks
out before Gordon is cleared of this monstrous
charge. John gave me all the details known
to him. The marriage was perfectly legal.
He performed the ceremony, and Mrs. John
Dundas and Arthur Vandergrift were the witnesses.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</span>
The affair was kept absolutely quiet
for personal reasons given by Mrs. Dundas.
John wouldn’t, of course, tell me what they
were, except to say that everything was open
and above board.”</p>
<p>“Did he tell you anything else?”</p>
<p>“Only that the marriage took place at three
o’clock in the afternoon. He gave me this
copy of the marriage certificate for you.” He
took the paper out of his notebook and handed
it to Dick. The printed lines danced before the
latter’s eyes as he studied them.</p>
<p>“Whichever way I look at it, Gordon’s guilt
seems certain,” he said, finally.</p>
<p>But Tom shook his head in doubt. “I still
don’t see where the motive comes in,” he argued.
“Just because he married Beatrice in
secret he didn’t have to kill her stepmother.”</p>
<p>“It happens that Gordon was an old lover
of Mrs. Trevor’s,” answered Dick, shortly.
“General Long says he was madly infatuated
with her, and there’s a rumor they were married
in London before she met Trevor.”</p>
<p>“Good Lord!” ejaculated Tom, in open-eyed
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</span>amazement. “Do you mean that Gordon intentionally
or unintentionally committed
bigamy?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” moodily. “Apparently the
marriage was kept from the Trevors. But
why? From a worldly point of view it was a
most suitable match. Both are well-born,
wealthy, and good looking. Why, then,
elope?”</p>
<p>“Blessed if I know.” Tom scratched his
head hopelessly. “Mrs. Trevor, as proved by
her letter, made an appointment with Gordon
at a most unconventional hour. Perhaps she
refused to keep silent about the past in that
last interview, and in a boiling fury he snatched
up the hat-pin.”</p>
<p>“But then how did Beatrice get so entangled
in the affair?” asked Dick.</p>
<p>“Is she?” inquired Tom, puzzled by the new
development.</p>
<p>“Yes,” despondently. “I know positively
that she had the top of the broken hat-pin in
her possession after the murder. It was undoubtedly
the weapon used to kill Mrs. Trevor.
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</span>Also, Beatrice’s blood-stained handkerchief is
said to have been found inside the safe by the
body of her stepmother. Gordon is the last
man to throw suspicion on an innocent woman
by using her handkerchief and her hat-pin.
Even if guilty, he would never hide behind a
woman’s petticoat.”</p>
<p>Tom’s eyes grew bigger and bigger as he
listened to Dick.</p>
<p>“It strikes me you are on the wrong tack,”
he said when the latter paused. “All your arguments
appear to me to point to the fact that
Gordon is trying to shield Beatrice. Innocent
himself, he might have purposely let them arrest
him for her crime.”</p>
<p>“Good God!” Dick looked at Tom in sudden
horror.</p>
<p>“Beatrice might have been concealed behind
a curtain and overheard the scene between her
husband and her stepmother. Mrs. Trevor
was very beautiful, also very fascinating; perhaps
Gordon lost his head and made love to
her. Beatrice’s jealousy roused—”</p>
<p>“No, no,” exclaimed Dick. “Beatrice was
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</span>at the ball then. I was with her myself at the
very time Mrs. Trevor and Gordon were together.”</p>
<p>“Why not later on then?” pursued Tom.
“She was the last person to enter the house—everyone
else was in bed—perhaps the two
women met and continued their quarrel. You
remember Wilkins overheard Beatrice threaten
her stepmother earlier in the evening. Stronger
than most of her sex, blind hatred may have
nerved Beatrice’s arm and eye to strike the
fatal blow.”</p>
<p>“I won’t believe it!” declared Dick, fiercely.
“I won’t! I stick to it that Alfred Clark is the
criminal.”</p>
<p>“The secretary?” asked Tom, much astonished.</p>
<p>“Yes. He was Mrs. Trevor’s old lover,
too....”</p>
<p>“Another! Apparently the woods were full
of them,” interpolated Tom.</p>
<p>“Mrs. Trevor was probably jealous of his
attentions to Beatrice, and threatened to disclose
some disgraceful secret of his past.
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</span>Clark, to silence her, killed her, the cold-blooded
fish. He would not scruple to throw suspicion
on Beatrice, particularly as, being married to
Gordon, she must have rejected his suit.”</p>
<p>“For all that, Dick,” said Tom, obstinately,
“if Beatrice Trevor ever comes to trial for this
crime, you will have great difficulty in convincing
twelve good men and true that she is
innocent.”</p>
<p>“I’ll do it!” Dick’s eyes snapped with determination.</p>
<p>“How?”</p>
<p>“By proving that that black-hearted scoundrel
Clark is guilty.”</p>
<p>“Beg pardon, sir,” Lambert’s discreet voice
from the doorway interrupted them. “James
has just sent up word, sir, that the car is here,
sir.”</p>
<p>“All right, Lambert; get Mr. Tillinghast’s
coat and hat, and mine. I’ll take you wherever
you wish to go, Dick, but first come with me
to Galt’s. I have to buy a wedding present for
May Seymour. Please come and help me select
it.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</span></p>
<p>Dick consulted his watch. “If you won’t be
very long, I’ll come. I have an appointment
with General Long at four o’clock.”</p>
<p>Lambert helped them into their overcoats,
and a few minutes later they were whirled away
in the big Pierce Arrow car which was Tom’s
latest addition to his overstocked garage.</p>
<p>“I had a great mind to turn detective and
use the knowledge of Beatrice’s secret marriage
to find the murderer of her stepmother,”
said Tom, as the big car slowed up at a street
crossing. “You remember, Dick, that Peggy
Macallister challenged us all. But don’t worry,
old man,” seeing the telltale color rise in Dick’s
face. “I know when I am out of the running.
But what struck me as being extremely ludicrous
was her including Count de Morny in the
wager. I was the only one to appreciate the
humor of it.”</p>
<p>“I fail to see any particular humor in the
situation,” retorted Dick, warmly. “De Morny
has as great a right to win Peggy as any man;
far more than I, in fact.” And he sighed as
he bitterly thought of his small bank account.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</span></p>
<p>“Tut! I wasn’t thinking of your rivalry,
but of de Morny’s putting himself out to revenge
Mrs. Trevor’s death. Why, man alive,
they hated each other like poison.”</p>
<p>Dick looked curiously at Tom. “What makes
you think so?”</p>
<p>“I don’t think—I <i>know</i>. De Morny told me
so himself. He said she affected him as a cat
does some people; simply couldn’t stand being
in the same room with her, and yet they
were constantly thrown together at bridge
parties. I thought it simply one of his over-charged
Latin speeches; but one day at the
Macallisters I inadvertently overheard them
talking. They were in a bay window concealed
by the curtain, and I stood with my back to
them waiting for the crowd to thin so I could
go and speak to Mrs. Macallister.”</p>
<p>“And what did you overhear?” asked Dick,
with growing interest.</p>
<p>“At first I paid no attention to the few
words I caught; but finally I heard a
woman’s voice say: ‘Indeed, Count, I will
not agree....’</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</span></p>
<p>“‘You must. If you do not, disaster will
overtake you. Be warned in time.’</p>
<p>“His voice was so threatening that I involuntarily
turned to interrupt them just as
Mrs. Trevor parted the curtains and walked
out. Until then I had not known for certain
who they were. They spoke in French. From
that moment Mrs. Trevor won my admiration.
There was no trace of excitement or embarrassment
in her manner. Jove! she carried off the
situation with a high hand, and de Morny followed
her lead.”</p>
<p>“Probably they didn’t know they had been
overheard,” suggested Dick.</p>
<p>“That must have been it,” answered Tom.
“Come to think of it, the last time I saw Mrs.
Trevor was on Wednesday about noon. She
was sitting in her limousine in front of de
Morny’s small house on K Street.”</p>
<p>“Considering their dislike was mutual, it’s
strange she should drive up to his door. Was
the Attorney General with her?”</p>
<p>“No, she was alone; probably she stopped to
leave a note. They played auction a great deal.
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</span>De Morny told me the other day, though, that
he would have to give up playing as his losses
had been very heavy this winter. Here’s
Galt’s, come on in.”</p>
<p>It did not take Tom long to select a present.
He picked out an after-dinner coffee service,
and gave directions as to its marking and delivery.
Dick glanced impatiently at the clock.
He had barely time to keep his appointment if
he left at once. As he turned to speak to Tom
he heard a man standing next him say:</p>
<p>“My mastaire wishes it repaired and returned
at once, Monsieur.”</p>
<p>Dick’s eyes traveled over the speaker, obviously
by the cut of his clothes a foreigner,
then on to the piece of jewelry which the man
laid on the counter as he spoke. It was a long,
heavily linked, red-gold watch chain. Dick
waited for the valet to go before addressing
the clerk, who had often waited on him.</p>
<p>“May I look at this chain?”</p>
<p>“Why, yes, Mr. Tillinghast.”</p>
<p>Dick took it up in his left hand. The outer
sides of the links were covered with intricate
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</span>scroll work. One link was missing. With
trembling fingers, he took the coin out of his
pocket and placed the link in the broken chain.
It fitted exactly!</p>
<p>Dick’s heart was beating nearly to suffocation
as he asked, in little more than a whisper:</p>
<p>“Can you tell me to whom this chain belongs?”</p>
<p>“Certainly, sir. Count de Morny.”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII<br />
<span class="smaller">AT THE TIME APPOINTED</span></h2></div>
<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">D</span>ick</span> leaned limply against the high, glass
counter, his cold fingers holding fast to
the telltale chain.</p>
<p>“Mr. Tillinghast.” He whirled around and
found Hardy standing by his side. “I tried to
see you at your office, but Colonel Byrd said
you were at Stoneleigh Court. On going there,
Mr. Blake’s servant told me I might catch you
here. Chief Conner has received word that
Clark was arrested this morning in New York
on board an outgoing tramp steamer. He was
disguised as an Italian stoker. Two Secret
Service men are bringing him back on the six
ten train to-night. Chief Conner sent me word
to look you up at once, as he—”</p>
<p>“Just a moment, Hardy,” Dick interrupted.
He had done some rapid thinking, and a daring
plan had occurred to him, which he decided to
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</span>put into instant execution. “Are you a good
bluffer?”</p>
<p>“You bet; try me.”</p>
<p>“Then go to the head clerk and tell him you
need this chain,” picking it up, “as a piece of
evidence in a murder. Do that, then come with
me, and by night you will have the real murderer
of Mrs. Trevor under lock and key. Be
quick.”</p>
<p>Hardy did exactly as Dick suggested, meeting
with but little opposition from the head
clerk after he had convinced that individual
that he was a properly accredited representative
of the law.</p>
<p>“Come on, Tom,” called Dick, as his friend
stopped for a moment to examine a tray filled
with cigarette cases.</p>
<p>“What’s up?” he inquired, joining the two
men at the door.</p>
<p>“Another clew,” answered Dick, briefly.
“In with you both,” bundling them unceremoniously
into the waiting motor. “I want
half an hour’s uninterrupted talk with you and
Hardy, Tom.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</span></p>
<p>Tom looked keenly at Dick’s serious face.
“Drive to the Mall,” he ordered, and the chauffeur
started slowly off in that direction. “Out
with your story, Dick.”</p>
<p>The latter took the broken link out of his
pocket and handed it to Tom. “I found this
link in the Trevor house under the armor in
the front hall. No member of that household
can identify it. Wilkins, their butler, declares
it was not there on the morning of the murder,
as he and the footman oiled the floor then.
Clark, according to the butler, wears a fob.
Swarms of people called and left cards at the
Trevors’ but they go no further than the front
door. I am telling you all this to prove that
that broken link was not where I found it <i>before</i>
the murder, nor could it have been
dropped there after the finding of the body.
Now, that broken link is exactly the same design
and fits in this chain which Hardy has
just received from the clerk at Galt’s.”</p>
<p>“Well, what then?” demanded Hardy,
eagerly.</p>
<p>“Just this.” Dick spoke slowly and distinctly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</span>
so as to be heard by the deeply interested
men. “This chain belongs to Count de
Morny.”</p>
<p>“Hold on—hold on,” exclaimed Tom, recovering
from his surprise. “Perhaps some person
attending the inquest dropped it?”</p>
<p>“That part of the house was roped off and
guarded by policemen.”</p>
<p>“You are right,” agreed Hardy. “I remember
the careful arrangements we made to keep
the crowd to the left as they entered the house.
Besides,” examining the chain closely, “it
must have taken a tremendous wrench to break
off that link, and the few pieces of furniture
on the way to the library and parlor were moved
to make room for the people passing back and
forth.”</p>
<p>“Exactly,” said Dick. “My theory is that
de Morny, after committing the murder, concealed
himself behind the armor in the corner
by the chimney. In getting up, his chain must
have caught and wrenched off the link.”</p>
<p>“But the motive?” demanded Hardy.
“Count de Morny is a member of the Diplomatic<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</span>
Corps; there will be an awful howl and
international complications unless we have absolute
proof of his guilt before we arrest him.”</p>
<p>“Mr. Blake can tell you that Mrs. Trevor and
the Count hated each other.”</p>
<p>“Yes, he told me so,” corroborated Tom, as
the detective looked at him. “I also overheard
the Count threaten her.”</p>
<p>“Gordon was not the only man late in arriving
at the Bachelors’ Cotillion that night,”
went on Dick. “De Morny never got there until
after midnight. He gave very evasive answers
to Miss Macallister when she asked what
had detained him. We all teased him about
his unusual solemnity; and then towards the
end of the ball he astonished us by sudden outbursts
of hilarity. At the time I attributed
them to too many convivial glasses of champagne.
But a more sinister cause may have
been responsible for his conduct.</p>
<p>“To sum up—we know de Morny hated Mrs.
Trevor; we know he threatened her; we know
this chain belongs to him; we know one link
from it was found in the Trevor house; we know
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</span>he could have killed Mrs. Trevor that night and
have gone afterwards to the ball—it is what
Gordon is accused of doing.</p>
<p>“Now, I propose we go to de Morny and demand
an explanation. If he cannot give a satisfactory
one, Hardy, here, as a representative
of the law, can threaten to arrest him.”</p>
<p>“I can—” Hardy looked troubled—“but you
gentlemen have got to stand by me, for I may
get into a devil of a row by exceeding my authority.”</p>
<p>“Don’t worry,” said Tom. “I am convinced
de Morny is the murderer, and that our bluff
will work.”</p>
<p>“I must speak to Captain Brown first, sir,”
objected the detective.</p>
<p>Tom wasted no time in words, he leaned
across and spoke to his chauffeur.</p>
<p>“Police Headquarters,” he ordered, “as fast
as you can get there.”</p>
<p>About an hour later the big car purred softly
up K Street and stopped before a modest red-brick
house. Tom led the way up the short
flagged walk and rang the bell. A Union
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</span>Transfer baggage wagon drove up to the curb,
and Hardy nodded toward it, whispering to
Dick: “Making a quick get-away.”</p>
<p>“Take my card to Monsieur le Comte,” said
Tom to the attendant who answered the door.
“I will detain him but a moment.”</p>
<p>His air of authority had its effect on the
servant, and he promptly showed them into the
small parlor, saying he would summon his
master.</p>
<p>Too nervous to sit down, Dick wandered
around the cozy room, looking at first one ornament
and then another. The place spoke of
wealth and good taste. A Corot and a Millet
hung on the walls. The rich coloring of the
oriental hangings and rugs gave out an air of
comfort and warmth which was added to by
the cannel coal fire burning cheerfully in the
grate. It had grown bitterly cold outside, and
the men, grateful for the warmth, stood grouped
about the fireplace as Count de Morny entered.</p>
<p>“Ah! Monsieur Blake, most welcome; and
you, too, Monsieur,” shaking Dick warmly by
the hand, “and—” looking at the detective.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</span></p>
<p>“Detective Hardy,” supplemented Tom,
feeling exceedingly uncomfortable; but the
Frenchman apparently did not notice the
air of constraint in each man’s attitude,
but greeted Hardy with all the courtesy of his
nation.</p>
<p>“Won’t you seet?” he asked, pulling the
lounging chairs nearer the fire. “Eet ees cold
outside, <i>n’est-ce pas</i>?”</p>
<p>“Thanks. We have only come for a moment,”
answered Dick, “just to ask you—”
He hesitated, glancing at Hardy.</p>
<p>“To ask you,” said Hardy, stepping forward,
“what took place between you and Mrs. Trevor
on the night of Wednesday, February third?”</p>
<p>A look of blank astonishment crossed de
Morny’s face.</p>
<p>“Ze night of ze sird!” he exclaimed. “But
I do not see Madame zen. I do not remembaire—one
moment—” As he spoke, he drew
a small Morocco-bound memorandum book from
his vest pocket, and rapidly turned its leaves.
“<i>Mais, oui</i>—I was at ze Bachelors’ zat night,”
he added, triumphantly.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</span></p>
<p>“You did not go there until after midnight,”
said Dick.</p>
<p>“<i>Oui</i>, Monsieur,” said de Morny. He eyed
the men sharply. It just occurred to him that
their behavior was somewhat peculiar. “And
what then?” haughtily.</p>
<p>“We wish to know where you were between
the hours of ten o’clock and one in the morning
on the night of the third.”</p>
<p>“Why should you question me, Monsieur
Hardy?” turning squarely on the detective.</p>
<p>“Because I want to know when you killed
Mrs. Trevor,” he bluntly replied.</p>
<p>The detective’s meaning dawned slowly upon
de Moray’s mind; then he leaped to his feet
with an oath, his handsome eyes flashing with
fury.</p>
<p>“<i>Pardieu!</i>” he cried. “You dare—you
dare—” Not able to express his indignation
in his limited English, he burst into French.</p>
<p>Tom tried to stem the torrent of his words
by addressing him in his native tongue, while
Dick and Hardy stood hopelessly looking on,
but de Morny would not be appeased.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</span></p>
<p>“I—I—” he began, lapsing into broken
English, “I—a de Morny—am accused by a
pig of an Americaine of a crime so foul!
Bah!” Then, mastering his rage by a great
effort, he asked more calmly, “May I ask
Monsieur for his reasons of a charge so monstrous?”</p>
<p>“Certainly,” said Hardy. “You were heard
to threaten her—”</p>
<p>“<i>I</i>, Monsieur?” in great astonishment.</p>
<p>“Yes; I overheard you do so at Mrs. Macallister’s,”
interrupted Tom.</p>
<p>De Morny looked at him with an enigmatic
smile. “So!” was his only comment.</p>
<p>“You cannot give a satisfactory account of
your whereabouts on February third between
the hours of ten and one in the morning; at
least you haven’t yet.”</p>
<p>“So!” Again the Frenchman smiled.</p>
<p>“Now, Count—” Hardy spoke slowly, to
make sure that de Morny understood him—“we
have irrefutable evidence that you were in
the Trevor house on that night. A piece of
your property was found there.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</span></p>
<p>“What is eet?” questioned de Morny, with
a rising inflection.</p>
<p>“This—” taking the watch chain out of his
pocket.</p>
<p>“<i>Mais c’est impossible!</i>” ejaculated the
Frenchman. “I myself sent the chain to ze
jeweler to be mended.”</p>
<p>“Exactly, Count—<i>to be mended</i>. Here is
the broken link you lost in the Trevor house on
the night of February third.”</p>
<p>Spellbound, de Morny gazed at the coin lying
in Hardy’s broad palm. Then he reached
over, took up the watch chain, laid it on the bare
mahogany table, and fitted the broken link into
place. In silence the three men watched him,
as a cat watches a mouse, but they could learn
nothing of the passion burning within him from
his set face and brooding eyes. Finally, he
broke the long pause to ask:</p>
<p>“And you sink—”</p>
<p>“That the owner of that chain is the murderer
of Mrs. Trevor.”</p>
<p>“You are right, sir,” said a low, clear voice
back of the detective. “<i>I am he.</i>”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</span></p>
<p>With a convulsive bound Hardy swung
round; Dick and Tom being too petrified to
move.</p>
<p>“Ah, <i>non, non</i>, de Smirnoff, say not so,”
cried de Morny, deep feeling in his shaking
voice.</p>
<p>The Russian had entered unnoticed some
minutes before by a door communicating with
an inner room. Too shocked for speech, and
sick at heart, Dick gazed at him. This—this
was the man who had saved him from a horrible
death—and he had repaid the debt by
hounding him to the gallows. But for his intervention
the criminal would have gone undetected.</p>
<p>“And why not, Henri?” asked de Smirnoff,
quietly. “I cannot have you, <i>mon ami</i>, arrested
for my crime. And so, Monsieur,” to
Hardy, “you found my lucky piece and traced
it here—I do not know how you did it, but it
was clever work. I thought I had covered my
tracks.”</p>
<p>“Hold, sir,” said Hardy, his sense of fair
play causing him to interrupt. “I must warn
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</span>you that everything you say will be used against
you.”</p>
<p>De Smirnoff shrugged his shoulders. “It
can make no difference.” Then, as Hardy
pulled out a pair of handcuffs, his face flushed
hotly. “Not that—my God!—not that; I will
come quietly with you.”</p>
<p>At a sign from Dick, Hardy reluctantly put
them back in his pocket.</p>
<p>“My warm thanks, Messieurs,” said de
Smirnoff, slowly, “for the great kindness; and
I have another favor to ask of you. My host,
Count de Morny, knows nothing of this affair.
I would like, if possible, to explain my share in
it to him and to you. It was no sordid murder.
Will you not sit a moment?”</p>
<p>Dick held a whispered conversation with Tom
and Hardy, and then turned to de Smirnoff.</p>
<p>“We agree to listen, Count.”</p>
<p>De Smirnoff bowed his head in grave acknowledgment,
and then signed to the men to
draw up their chairs. It was a scene Dick never
forgot: the room, lighted only by the winter
twilight and the bright blaze of the cannel coal,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</span>the five men seated in a circle around the
hearth, the firelight flickering on their excited
faces. De Smirnoff was by far the calmest of
them all.</p>
<p>“It will not take long in the telling,” he began;
“but to make the present situation clear,
I must speak first of the past. Hélène de
Beaupré’s mother, Olga Weletsky, was a Russian.
She married Claude de Beaupré, and
they lived first in one country and then in another,
finally returning to St. Petersburg.
There they lived in comparative poverty and
obscurity, having spent most of their patrimony
in their wanderings about the world.</p>
<p>“About five years later they both died within
a very short time of each other, leaving their
only child, a girl of twenty-three, in the care of
an uncle, Colonel Weletsky. I saw her often
before the death of her parents. She was very
beautiful then—the beauty of the devil—the
beauty that destroys men’s souls.</p>
<p>“My only son, Sacha de Smirnoff, met her
frequently at a friend’s house, and fell madly
in love with her. She returned his passion,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</span>but she would not consent to a marriage ceremony
being performed, as she said she did not
believe in the solemn rites of the church. I
think she simply did not wish to bind herself
legally to one man. They lived together for
two years.” He paused, then resumed his
story.</p>
<p>“While this was going on, I was in Persia
looking after some mining interests, which I
inherited from an uncle. News travels but
slowly in that country of no telegraphs, telephones,
or railroads, and during those two
years and more I heard but seldom from Sacha.
Therefore, you can understand my horror and
my agony when, on my return to St. Petersburg,
I found that my son had been arrested as a
nihilist, secretly tried, and sent God knows
where.” His voice shook with feeling.
“Hélène had also vanished. I joined the Secret
Police as a political spy. For nearly four
despairing years I searched Siberia for my boy,
visiting every penal settlement in that vast
land.</p>
<p>“There is no need of recounting the humiliation<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</span>
and suffering I endured during that time;
the worst agony being my anxiety for my son.
Finally, I found him in the worst settlement
of all, broken in health and in spirit, a physical
and almost mental wreck. Remembering him
as I did in the glory of his young manhood, tall,
handsome, brave, it was a fearful shock to me
to find him crippled, scarred, and cringing.
Shortly after my arrival Sacha fell ill with
brain fever, and for days I nursed him, fearing
he would never recover. He rallied finally, and
slowly day by day regained his strength. I did
everything I could to lighten his confinement,
while all the time planning his escape.</p>
<p>“One day a fresh batch of political prisoners
arrived, among them an old friend of Sacha’s.
When he found who I was, he told me that
he himself after Sacha’s arrest, had gone to
Hélène and given her proofs of Sacha’s innocence
of the crime he was charged with, thinking
that of course she would use the papers to
clear him. But the Vampire was already tired
of Sacha. She disappeared with the papers,
believing that safe in the wilds of Siberia Sacha
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</span>would never trouble her again, and she could
live her own life untroubled by the past.</p>
<p>“Boris advised me to recover those papers,
give them to the proper authorities, and secure
my son’s release. It seemed the only thing to
do, as Sacha’s health was such that to try and
escape in the rigors of that climate was courting
certain death. Therefore, I left Siberia,
first arranging with one of the Cossack officials
at the settlement to send me word every
month of my son’s physical condition, care of
my Paris bankers.” He stopped and sighed
deeply, then drew out his cigar case. “Will
you not join me, I speak more calmly when
I smoke?</p>
<p>“I will not weary you with a detailed account
of my search for Hélène. My connection with
the Secret Police helped me, and I was of great
use to the Bureau, as few suspected that I belonged
to the force. Finally I traced Hélène
to Italy, Paris, England, and then here. I
knew of the Grand Duke’s proposed visit, and
asked permission to accompany him; and I was
sent on as special agent to guard him against
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</span>the Camorra, as you already know,” to Dick.
“I came on to Washington before the Grand
Duke, however, and meeting Henri,” placing
his hand affectionately on de Morny’s shoulder,
“an old friend of Sacha’s, accepted his invitation
to visit him during my stay here. That
was on the second of February.</p>
<p>“On Wednesday morning as I was going out
of the front door, I was astounded to see
Hélène sitting in her automobile by the curb.
I believe her chauffeur was in the vestibule
waiting to deliver a note. I paid no attention
to him but went straight to the limousine and
opened the door. I have altered little, and
Hélène knew me at once. She shrank back in
her seat.</p>
<p>“‘You have nothing to fear,’ I said, quickly.
‘I simply want those papers which will clear
Sacha. Have you kept them?’</p>
<p>“My one terror had been that she might have
destroyed them, and my heart leaped with joy
when she told me she had the papers, but she
also said she had no intention of giving them
up.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</span></p>
<p>“‘I am not here to haggle with you,’ I answered.
‘What is your price?’</p>
<p>“‘Twenty thousand.’</p>
<p>“‘Roubles?’</p>
<p>“‘No, dollars.’</p>
<p>“Her ruling passion was gambling. It was
an inherited vice. She would sell her soul for
money to lose over the gaming tables.”</p>
<p>“It ees so,” interrupted de Morny. “I was
warning her, Monsieur Blake, when you overheard
me. She was my cousin, but yes, and
I did not want the name disgraced. I hated
and despised her for her treatment of my
friend, Sacha; and it was I, Messieurs, who first
notified Count de Smirnoff that she was in
Washington.” The Frenchman’s eyes sparkled
vindictively.</p>
<p>“Hélène leaned back in her car, thinking,
thinking,” continued de Smirnoff. “Finally
she said, speaking low that the chauffeur should
not hear:</p>
<p>“‘Come to my house to-night at one o’clock.
I can see you alone then; the others will be at
the ball. Knock very softly on the front door.’</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</span></p>
<p>“I nodded understandingly, saying: ‘I will
bring the money, do not fail me,’ and closed the
door of the car as the chauffeur cranked the engine.</p>
<p>“The rest of the day was taken up with arranging
my affairs. I produced my letters of
credit and drew out the money without difficulty
from different banks until I had the requisite
amount. It was a quarter of my fortune, but
no sum was too great to spend in rescuing my
son from his living death. After helping me
Henri went to Baltimore on business connected
with his Embassy—”</p>
<p>“<i>Oui</i>, I did,” again interrupted de Morny,
“and I only return by ze midnight train.”</p>
<p>“I was sitting here by the fire about eight
o’clock,” went on de Smirnoff, “thinking and
planning for the future—the happy future—when
Sacha and I could go to sunny Italy and
in that ideal climate, he would regain his shattered
health. We would take a villa on Lake
Como— Just then the housekeeper brought in
a cablegram. I tore it open—my son was
dead!</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</span></p>
<p>“In letters of fire the message burned into
my brain. How long I sat here I do not know;
but when I rose my soul was frozen, my mind
made up. She who was blood guilty should answer
for her crime. I would keep my appointment,
get the letters, and forward them to
Russia, thus making certain that Sacha should
sleep in no unhallowed grave, but be brought
to the old vault in St. Petersburg to rest at last
with honor unblemished by the side of his illustrious
ancestors.</p>
<p>“At the time appointed I was in the Trevors’
vestibule, and I tapped softly on the door. In
a few minutes Hélène admitted me, and we
tiptoed softly into what was apparently a private
office. The light was on and I glanced
about the room to see if we were alone; the
open safe attracted my attention. Hélène
noticed my glance in that direction.</p>
<p>“‘My papers are there with my jewelry. I
had to get the combination before I could see
you. Have you the money?’</p>
<p>“I nodded. She went to the safe and picked
up a small bundle. As I watched her my hand
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</span>closed over a hat-pin lying on the top of the
desk I was standing by; I glanced down at it—the
long, sharp-pointed steel caught my attention.
It was an ideal weapon for my purpose;
far better than a revolver shot which
might arouse the household. As it happened
the pin broke in the wound—” There was not
a trace of feeling in his voice.</p>
<p>“Hélène returned, and in silence I handed
the money to her and watched her count it.
Beautiful as ever, living in the lap of luxury—while
he, Sacha, her devoted lover always,
had experienced the dregs of life in that hell
upon earth. Merciful God! Could such things
be?</p>
<p>“In silence she handed me the papers; in
silence I took them. She was about to speak
when her eye caught the glitter of a ring on
the floor. She dropped on one knee to pick it
up, resting her left hand against my thigh to
balance herself.</p>
<p>“Quickly I seized my chance; and with one
strong, straight stroke drove the hat-pin into
her heart, putting out my left hand to catch and
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</span>steady her body. And I held her until her head
fell back and I saw her eyes glazing. Thus died
Hélène—the Vampire!”</p>
<p>No one spoke. In the terrible silence the ticking
of the small clock sounded clear and distinct.
De Smirnoff roused himself.</p>
<p>“My tale is soon finished. I carried the body
to the safe and fastened the door; but first I
put the twenty thousand dollar gold certificates,
wrapped in her handkerchief, by her side. She
had paid the price, I had no further use for the
money.”</p>
<p>A gasp came from Hardy. “Good God!
Clark must have stolen the money,” he cried,
“he found the handkerchief.”</p>
<p>“What matter?” said de Smirnoff, indifferently.
“It is blood money, ill-gotten gains!
To continue; I put out the lights in the room
and went into the hall, but just as I started for
the door I heard someone coming downstairs,
so I hid behind a suit of old armor. The man,
whom I judged to be Mr. Trevor, went straight
to the front door and admitted a woman. They
went immediately into the room I had just left.
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</span>Just as I started to go, Mr. Trevor returned
into the hall and went upstairs. He came down
at once, and in a few seconds I heard him talking
at the telephone. This was my opportunity.
I rose up hurriedly; but in my haste I
caught my watch chain in some sharp part of
the iron stand which supported the armor. I
heard something snap, but dared not stop to investigate.
I slipped out of the front door and
down the front steps as noiselessly as I could,—but
dropped the head of the hat-pin in opening
the door.</p>
<p>“With a supreme effort, I took up my everyday
life the next morning, attending to my
duties in safe-guarding the person of the Grand
Duke, and accepting the invitations I received
as Henri’s guest. It has given me infinite satisfaction
to see Hélène’s wicked past revealed
gradually to the world she had fooled so
long.</p>
<p>“Monsieur Tillinghast—” he turned directly
to Dick—“I am glad, glad I was of service to
you the other night, for you remind me of
Sacha.” His voice quivered on his son’s name.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</span></p>
<p>“Count—Count—what can I say,” faltered
Dick.</p>
<p>“Say nothing. It is Kismet. In my grief
for my son I have never given the loss of my
lucky coin another thought; but I hated to be
without my chain, a present from Sacha when
a lad; so I asked Henri to send it to a jeweler’s
to be mended. That—is—all—I—think—Messieurs—”</p>
<p>For some time his voice had grown husky
from weariness and emotion; now he could
hardly articulate. None of his listeners cared
to break the painful pause. Suddenly, Hardy,
the most callous of the four men, rose and
turned on the lights. As he did so a cry
escaped de Morny:</p>
<p>“Look—look!” he shouted pointing to de
Smirnoff.</p>
<p>With a bound Dick was by the Russian’s
side, his hand on his heart. De Smirnoff’s
head was thrown back, his body, unnoticed in
the dimly lighted room, had twisted slightly,
and his eyes were fixed in a dreadful stare.
There was no need for Dick to speak. Each
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</span>man in the room knew de Smirnoff was
dead.</p>
<p>Tom leaned over and took the half-burnt cigar
from the nerveless fingers.</p>
<p>“The poison was here,” he said.</p>
<p>Dick’s pitying gaze fell on the livid face.</p>
<p>“Better so,” he said softly.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII<br />
<span class="smaller">THE LIFTING OF THE CLOUD</span></h2></div>
<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">“D</span>urley</span>, fill up Miss Beatrice’s champagne
glass. I insist, my dear,” as
Beatrice protested. “Your health needs such a
tonic, and it can do you no harm. I promised
your father that I would take good care of you,
so you must prepare to do exactly as I say,”
and Mrs. Macallister shook a warning finger at
her guest.</p>
<p>Peggy had called for Beatrice that afternoon
and carried her home in the Macallisters’ landaulet.
And already their tender but unobtrusive
sympathy, and the cheery atmosphere
of the house had had a beneficial effect on her
over-wrought nerves.</p>
<p>Intuitively, Mrs. Macallister knew that Beatrice
was silently grieving her heart out, too
proud to complain even to those dear friends,
as each day added its burden to those which
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</span>her sensitive woman’s soul was bearing so
bravely. As her handsome dark eyes, filled
with unshed tears, encountered Mrs. Macallister’s
piercing ones, that astute dame, deeply
touched by their wistful appeal, then and there
registered a vow to do everything within her
power to help her. “There’s some man in the
case,” thought she, watching Beatrice covertly.
“And what on earth ails Peggy? She hasn’t
been herself since the night I found her in a
dead faint.”</p>
<p>All through dinner Peggy had eaten nothing.
She sat, pale and preoccupied, making bread
balls and leaving her grandmother to entertain
Beatrice. The hat-pin was weighing heavily on
Peggy’s mind, taking away both appetite and
sleep. She was trying to screw up her courage
to ask Beatrice to explain its presence in her
box, but each time she looked at her friend’s
sad face her heart misgave her. What—what
if she couldn’t explain? Peggy sighed drearily.</p>
<p>“For goodness’ sake, Peggy,” exclaimed
Mrs. Macallister thoroughly exasperated.
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</span>“You are very depressing to-night. What is
the matter?”</p>
<p>“Nothing, nothing,” she hastily declared,
suddenly waking up to the fact that she had not
taken any part in the conversation for some
time. “I was thinking of a story Mr. Sinclair
told me this morning when I was in the bank
about Mrs. Wheeler. He said his bookkeeper
sent word to Mrs. Wheeler that she had overdrawn
her bank account. She promptly wrote
a note to him saying she was so sorry the mistake
had happened, and she enclosed her check
on them to cover the overdraw!”</p>
<p>“Poor Mrs. Wheeler,” said Beatrice, as they
rose from the table and strolled into the library.
“I wonder what Washington would do without
her, her blunders are so numerous?”</p>
<p>“Their name is legion,” agreed Mrs. Macallister,
helping herself to coffee. “Is that the
door bell, Hurley?”</p>
<p>“Yes, ma’am.”</p>
<p>“I think it is probably Dick Tillinghast,”
exclaimed Beatrice rising in her agitation. “I
took the liberty of asking him to call here, Mrs.
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</span>Macallister. I hope you won’t mind, but I—I—”
she broke off. “It was imperative that I
see him at once.”</p>
<p>“My dear, of course not. I am always glad
to see Dick,” answered Mrs. Macallister, concealing
her surprise. Could it be that he was
the man in the case! Why, good gracious, <i>she</i>
had other plans for him. “Ask Mr. Tillinghast
to come in here, Hurley.” Her usually
tranquil tones were so emphatic that the well-trained
servant positively jumped as he hastened
out of the room.</p>
<p>Mrs. Macallister looked at the two girls very
sharply. Surely she had not been mistaken?
Dick had seemed to have only ears and eyes for
Peggy; and yet—Beatrice’s very evident
excitement; Peggy’s open-eyed wonder. “Oh,
these men!” thought Mrs. Macallister, disgustedly,
“you can’t tell by the looks of a toad
how far he’ll jump. If that young man has
played fast and loose with my Peggy, I’ll—”
And in growing anger she waited. The silence
was unbroken by the two girls. They could
hear the front door opened, and Hurley’s raised
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</span>voice; then steps sounded down the hall and
stopped when they reached the library. Hurley
threw open the door and announced:</p>
<p>“Mr. Gordon.”</p>
<p>Too astounded to move, Peggy and her grandmother
sat gazing at the young officer, thinking
they saw an apparition. As he crossed the
threshold, one wild scream of agony burst from
Beatrice, and she swayed forward a dead
weight into his arms.</p>
<p>“Beatrice—Beatrice—my darling—my dear,
dear wife!” he cried, distractedly. Then, seeing
no answering gleam of recognition in her
dazed eyes, he turned appealingly to Mrs. Macallister.
“Merciful God! have I killed her?”</p>
<p>“Nonsense!” cried Mrs. Macallister, her
active mind instantly grasping the significance
of the situation. “Joy never kills. Quick,
Hurley,” to the butler who was standing by
with mouth agape, “some champagne.” And,
as he darted out of the room to obey her order,
she bade Gordon lift the limp form on to the
wide lounge.</p>
<p>With Peggy’s assistance, he chafed her cold
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</span>hands, and watched with anxious eyes while
Mrs. Macallister forced Beatrice to swallow
some foaming champagne. The stimulant had
instant effect, a little color crept up into the wan
cheeks, and she made a feeble attempt to sit up,
all the time keeping her eyes fixed on Gordon
as if she feared he would vanish from her sight.</p>
<p>“Donald—Donald—is it you?” she gasped,
the pent-up longing of days finding voice at
last. Then, as recollection gradually returned
to her, her features were distorted with agony.
“Don—Don—how could you?”</p>
<p>“Hush, my darling, you are wrong, wrong—I
am innocent!” Her eyes distended with
dawning hope as she glanced from one anxious
face to the other.</p>
<p>“Here, take another glass of this,” insisted
Mrs. Macallister, who firmly believed that a
sip in time often saved many ills. “You will
need all your strength, for I judge there are
many things which will have to be explained
to-night.”</p>
<p>“You are right, Madam,” exclaimed Gordon.
“And the one to begin is right behind you.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</span></p>
<p>Mrs. Macallister wheeled around with such
energy that she knocked a cherished vase off
the center table, to find Dick Tillinghast just
within the door.</p>
<p>“Mercy on us, Dick,” she said, divided between
vexation over the fate of the vase, and
anxiety to hear what extraordinary events had
transpired. “Come in and tell us at once what
has happened.”</p>
<p>Dick took the chair Peggy pushed toward
him, and reading the agonized question in Beatrice’s
pleading eyes, he said briefly:</p>
<p>“The real murderer, Count de Smirnoff, has
confessed.”</p>
<p>A cry of surprise broke from Mrs. Macallister
and Peggy, but Beatrice’s feelings were
too deep for words. She bowed her face in her
hands, and only Gordon caught the fervid whisper:
“God, I thank Thee,” while hot scalding
tears trickled through her fingers. Regardless
of the others’ presence, he threw himself on his
knees beside her.</p>
<p>“My best beloved, can you ever forgive me
for doubting you; I, who am most unworthy—”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</span></p>
<p>Beatrice raised a radiant face. “Hush!”
she said. “Do not let me hear you say such a
thing again. I, too, am greatly to blame.”</p>
<p>“Pardon me,” interrupted Dick. “Neither
of you have any cause for self-reproach. You
were simply the victims of circumstances. But
it strikes me that you two have played at cross-purposes
long enough. If it isn’t too painful,”
addressing Beatrice, “would you mind straightening
out some of the kinks in the rope?”</p>
<p>“Gladly,” she answered. “Where shall I
begin?”</p>
<p>“Suppose you start with the marriage ceremony,”
suggested Dick, smiling covertly.</p>
<p>“What!” exclaimed Beatrice, astonished.
“You know of our marriage?”</p>
<p>“Yes. As it happened, my brother performed
the ceremony.”</p>
<p>Gordon’s amazement was evident. “I never
connected him with you; but go on, dearest—”
and he touched her hand lovingly.</p>
<p>“Last November I went to visit my aunt,
Mrs John Dundas, my mother’s sister, in
Philadelphia. At that time I was very unhappy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</span>
at home. Alfred Clark wanted me to
marry him, and Mrs. Trevor encouraged his
suit. Mr. Clark,” coloring vividly, “did not
behave well. If I wanted to live in peace and
tranquillity I had to be nice to him. Every
time he thought I slighted or neglected him, he
would complain to her, and between them they
would hatch up all sorts of stories to tell Father.
He believed my stepmother’s lies, and often
bitterly reproached me for making disagreeable
scenes. If Mrs. Trevor stopped tormenting me,
Mr. Clark always egged her on to more deviltry.
They were not always good friends,
though, and I hoped one of their numerous
quarrels would lead to his dismissal. But I
think he must have had some hold over her, for
she apparently feared to break with him altogether.”</p>
<p>“He had,” interrupted Dick. “I have just
seen Clark. Under Chief Connor’s severe
examination, he has made a complete confession.
It seems—” Dick hesitated for words. It was
not a pleasant tale he had to tell; he would have
to expurgate it as best he could. “It seems
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</span>that Mrs. Trevor, while living in Naples, had
a desperate affair with Giovanni Savelli. In
about a year he found she was unfaithful to
him. I suspect Clark was the other man in
question, but he wouldn’t admit it. Anyway,
Giovanni threatened to kill her when he turned
her out in the streets; he was so violent in his
anger that, in desperate fear, she fled the city
at night.</p>
<p>“Some time after her marriage to your
father, Clark came to Washington, and through
her influence secured his secretaryship. To
terrorize Mrs. Trevor, he told her that Giovanni
was planning to revenge himself on her, and
that if she did not do exactly as he, Clark,
wished, he would inform Giovanni of her whereabouts.</p>
<p>“Now comes his devilish ingenuity. While in
Naples, both Clark and Mrs. Trevor joined the
Camorra. Clark, desiring at last to get Mrs.
Trevor out of his way as he feared she would
speak of his disreputable past in one of her
violent rages, sent word to Giovanni six weeks
ago that she was betraying secrets of the Camorra<span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</span>
to the Italian Embassy here. To further
involve her, he himself sent information to
the Ambassador in Mrs. Trevor’s name. The
Camorra leaders promptly investigated Clark’s
charges, found they were apparently true, and
decreed her death.”</p>
<p>“What a fiend!” ejaculated Mrs. Macallister,
horrified.</p>
<p>“He will have plenty of time to repent in one
of our penitentiaries,” said Dick, dryly.
“Won’t you continue your story, Miss Beatrice?”</p>
<p>“Right after my arrival in Philadelphia, I
met Don at a hop at the League Island Navy
Yard, where he was stationed. On Christmas
day we became engaged—” Gordon caught
her hand in his and kissed it passionately.</p>
<p>“I was very, very happy. On the 29th of
December I received a long letter from Father
saying Mr. Clark had asked formally for my
hand in marriage, and that, after due consideration,
he had given his consent. Then he
enumerated the advantages of the match.
Through the whole letter I could perceive my
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</span>stepmother’s fine Italian hand. I knew the
great influence she had over him, and while he
said he would never force me to take anyone I
disliked; still, he hoped, and so forth.</p>
<p>“The letter frightened me, Mrs. Macallister;
and so when Don, after reading it, suggested
that we marry secretly and at once, I agreed.
We told my aunt, and she, also knowing that
Father always sided with Mrs. Trevor, said that
it would probably come to an elopement sooner
or later. Therefore, liking and trusting Don
as she did, she consented to arrange the affair
for us. I returned to Washington with my
aunt immediately after the ceremony, and Don
came down the following day to report for duty
at the White House.</p>
<p>“Ah, Don!” she broke off, turning towards
him, “you should not have asked me to postpone
the announcement of our marriage on the
flimsy excuse that you found on your arrival
only unmarried officers were to be the President’s
aides. You should have given me your
full confidence then.”</p>
<p>“I was wrong,” admitted Gordon gravely.
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</span>“But you do not know the tangle I found myself
in. Go on, dearest.”</p>
<p>“I was cruelly hurt,” said Beatrice, slowly;
“though I tried to convince myself that
everything you did was for the best. And so things
drifted until the evening of the third.” She
stopped and drew a long breath.</p>
<p>“As I came downstairs dressed for the
Bachelors’ that night, I was surprised when
Mrs. Trevor called me into the library. While
outwardly civil, we usually saw as little of each
other as possible. She asked me if it was true
that I had definitely refused Mr. Clark, and
when I said it was, she flew into a terrible rage.
When her anger had spent itself, she begged
and implored me to change my mind and marry
him, saying that I would bitterly rue the day if
I did not.</p>
<p>“I laughed the idea to scorn; and told her
I was pledged to another, better man. ‘His
name?’ she asked. ‘Donald Gordon,’ I replied.
Without a word she leaned over and took out
several notes from the drawer of her secretary,
saying: ‘I am afraid your chevalier—<i>sans</i>
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</span><i>peur et sans reproche</i>—is but human. Here
is a letter from him to me; read it.’</p>
<p>“Startled, my eyes fell on the handwriting I
knew so well, and I read the first few lines—words
of endearment and love were written
there, Donald—” A fierce exclamation broke
from him, and he started to interrupt.
“Wait,” she said. “Your turn will come later.
To go back: for a moment the room swam round
me, and the black demons of jealousy and
despair conquered. Remember, I thought I already
had cause to doubt you. Mrs. Trevor’s
beauty had proved irresistible to others; why
not to you? But I was determined not to give
in; so I told her I did not believe her, and she
laughed, oh, a laugh of pure deviltry. At
least, it seemed so to me. She handed me
another note from you, which said that you would
be there that night, and would rap on the door
for her to admit you.</p>
<p>“It was damning evidence, and my hope and
faith crumbled away. In a few passionate
words I renounced you; and then, tearing off
your signet ring, which I always carried concealed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</span>
since our wedding, I gave it to her and
bade her return it to you.</p>
<p>“As I started to leave the room, she said:
‘I will stop urging your marriage to Alfred
Clark on one condition.’</p>
<p>“‘And that is?’ I asked.</p>
<p>“‘That you give me your mother’s pearls.’</p>
<p>“For a moment I stared at my stepmother,
thinking she had taken leave of her senses.
My dear mother’s rope of pearls! They are
worth about twenty thousand dollars. Grandfather
Trowbridge had collected them from all
parts of the world, and their great value lay in
their wonderful match. Therefore, I thought
my ears had played me false, and I asked unbelievingly:
‘And your price?’ ‘You know it,’
she answered. By that time I was wrought up
beyond endurance, and cried out: ‘You devil,
get out of my way, or I may forget myself and
strike you!’ That is the part overheard by
Wilkins—” her voice trailed off in a sob.</p>
<p>Dick broke the pause that followed. “Clark
also told me that Mrs. Trevor was trying to
raise a large sum of money, hoping to buy his
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</span>silence,” he said. “She must have realized
that she was nearly at the end of her resources.”</p>
<p>“‘Whoso diggeth a Pit shall fall therein,’”
quoted Mrs. Macallister, softly.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV<br />
<span class="smaller">JOURNEYS END IN LOVERS’ MEETING</span></h2></div>
<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">“B</span>eatrice</span>, dear, why did you secrete your
broken hat-pin, and where did you get it
after the murder?” demanded Peggy, finding
courage at last to ask the question which had
worried her so much. Then, seeing Beatrice’s
open-eyed surprise, she added: “Your box
caught when I opened my secret drawer on
Friday night, and your cat’s-eye fell out. I instantly
recognized it. But believe me, dear, I
never for one moment thought you were connected
with Mrs. Trevor’s death.”</p>
<p>“She never did,” affirmed Dick. “In fact, it
was Peggy’s desire to clear you from suspicion
which urged me on in my efforts to find the real
murderer.”</p>
<p>“Peggy, dear Peggy; you best of friends.”
Beatrice leaned forward and kissed her warmly.
“Did you open the box?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</span></p>
<p>“No, indeed!” indignantly. “The cat’s-eye
fell out of the broken end, and I simply thrust
it back again without investigating further.”</p>
<p>“I wish you had, dear; you would have understood
then the dilemma I was placed in. I put
our marriage certificate in the bottom of the
box under the cotton, and then dropped the
cat’s-eye on top. Father told me, after Don’s
arrest, that the police would have great difficulty
in proving his guilt because they could find no
motive for the crime,” she went on to explain.
“He himself was as puzzled as they. I instantly
thought of our marriage certificate, and
fearing its discovery might injure Don, I made
plans to hide it.</p>
<p>“As to the broken pin—I never found it until
after Mrs. Trevor’s funeral. When I put on
black I decided to send all my dresses to a dear
friend in New York. It was Suzanne’s afternoon
out, but I was in a great hurry to send the
express package, so I took down my dresses myself
and laid them on the bed. On folding the
ball dress I had worn at the Bachelors’ Cotillion
I found the cat’s-eye securely caught by the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</span>gold setting in the lace underflounce of the
train.</p>
<p>“I was simply horrified. I had no doubt
whatever that the pin had been used to murder
my stepmother. I knew I had left it in the private
office on that Wednesday afternoon when
I took off my coat and hat there. I went to the
office to write a note to Peggy, which I gave to
Mrs. Macallister in the parlor later on. I
thought,” she glanced appealingly at Gordon,
“that the guilty man had dropped the pin in
the vestibule; for it must have caught in my
dress when I let go of my train to insert my
latch key and open the front door.</p>
<p>“I reasoned that the police would never believe
my explanation if they found the pin in my
possession, unless I told them the story of my
quarrel with Mrs. Trevor, and of our marriage,
Don. I knew Peggy was coming to see me, and
made up my mind to ask her to keep the pasteboard
box for me. You already know what
took place on my return from the ball by my
testimony at the inquest,” continued Beatrice.
“When I heard Mrs. Trevor had been murdered,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</span>
I thought Don had come to the house that
night and had killed her in a moment of ungovernable
rage. Can you ever forgive me,
dear?” clasping his hand in both of hers.</p>
<p>“There can be no question of that,” said
Gordon passionately. “You had every cause
to doubt me. Mine was the fault. I have
acted like a blind, crazy idiot. Listen: when
in London some four years ago, I met Hélène
de Beaupré and became very much infatuated
with her. Well, she made a fool of me, as she
did of others. One day, tired of having me
around, she dismissed me. That ended the
affair as far as I was concerned.”</p>
<p>“Just a moment,” interrupted Dick. “Did
Alfred Clark see you and Hélène at the Home
Office applying for a special license?”</p>
<p>If he had exploded a bomb under their noses,
he could not have created a greater disturbance.
Gordon sat up as if he had been shot, gazing
incredulously at Dick.</p>
<p>“Great Heavens!” he ejaculated. “What
an accomplished liar Clark is! And yet, this
fabrication has a foundation of truth. He did
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</span>see us in the Home Office talking to the clerk
in charge of special licenses. We were waiting
there for Sam Peters. You remember him,
don’t you?” Dick nodded. “Sam was to be
married at noon. He knew no one in London,
nor did his American bride-elect, except Hélène
and myself. He asked me to be his best man,
and Hélène to act as a witness. He had to procure
his special license, so we agreed to meet
him at the Home Office and go with him to the
church. Sam will verify what I am telling you,
if you care to ask him.”</p>
<p>“No, no, Don, I’ll take your word for it,”
said Dick, hastily.</p>
<p>“Beatrice has just told you of our marriage,”
continued Gordon. “I never knew until
your theater party, Dick, which you gave on
the night of my arrival here, that Beatrice’s
stepmother and Hélène de Beaupré were one
and the same person. Beatrice always spoke
of her as ‘Mrs. Trevor.’ Mrs. Trevor greeted
me that night as a stranger, and of course I
took my cue from her. In the days that followed
she must have seen how deeply and passionately<span class="pagenum" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</span>
I loved Beatrice, for she hinted as
much to me. Then she told me that she had a
package of my foolish, extravagant letters
written years ago.</p>
<p>“‘I never throw anything away that might
be of possible use,’ she went on. ‘Do you
think the Attorney General would look with
favor on your suit for his daughter’s hand if
he saw those letters?’</p>
<p>“I stared at her aghast, as the whole horrible
situation flashed over me. What in Heaven’s
name was I to do? I should have confided
everything to you then, my darling, but no man
likes to speak of past love affairs, no matter
how innocent, to his bride.</p>
<p>“For days Hélène played with me as a cat
does with a mouse, keeping me on tenter-hooks.
But on the morning of the third I received a
note from her, asking me to go and see her that
night about eleven thirty, and saying that she
had decided to return my letters. Overjoyed,
I gladly kept the appointment, and she admitted
me after I had given the signal agreed
on. We went at once to the private office.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</span></p>
<p>“Here are the letters,” she said, speaking
in a low voice. “I return them to you freely.
But first you must pledge me your word as an
officer and a gentleman never to mention them
to either my husband or Beatrice.”</p>
<p>“Of course, I willingly promised, and after
a few words of thanks I left the house as
silently as I had entered. I went directly to
the Benedict, destroyed the letters, then on to
the ball.”</p>
<p>“Good Heavens! did she not give you my
message—my ring?” gasped Beatrice.</p>
<p>“No; neither of them.”</p>
<p>“Clever woman,” commented Mrs. Macallister.
“She arranged it so you were in honor
bound never to speak of the letters to Beatrice;
and the latter, believing you false, would never
refer to them either. Of course, she reckoned
without the knowledge of your secret marriage.
Mrs. Trevor was a shrewd judge of human nature.
It was a pretty scheme she hatched to
separate you two, and not get caught herself.”</p>
<p>“You have summed it up exactly, Mrs. Macallister,”
agreed Gordon. “The first letter
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</span>she showed Beatrice was probably one written
years ago. I was bitterly hurt and angry,
Beatrice, when you refused to speak to me at
the hall. Then you returned my letter, unopened,
which I wrote as soon as I heard of
Mrs. Trevor’s death.</p>
<p>“I was much surprised, at being summoned
as a witness at the inquest. But when the
coroner showed me my signet ring, which you,
my dearest, had said you would never part
with, and told me it had been found in the dead
woman’s hand, I was bewildered—horrified.
I jumped to the conclusion that you two had
met, quarreled and—God forgive me—” Gordon
could not continue; and Beatrice, with shining
eyes bent toward him.</p>
<p>“And so,” she said, “you took the crime
upon yourself that I might be spared. It was
noble of you, dear heart,” and before them all,
she kissed him passionately.</p>
<p>Mrs. Macallister swallowed a suspicious lump
in her throat, while Peggy buried her nose in a
convenient pillow.</p>
<p>“Tell us, Dick, how the real criminal came to
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</span>confess,” she said as soon as she could speak
clearly.</p>
<p>With bated breath they listened to his thrilling
account of de Smirnoff’s vengeance.</p>
<p>“Some of the unfortunate story has to come
out in the papers,” ended Dick. “It cannot be
hushed up, altogether, as justice has to be done
the living.”</p>
<p>“My poor father!” cried Beatrice. “Where
is he!”</p>
<p>“At his house completely prostrated by the
news.”</p>
<p>“I must go to him at once.” Beatrice
sprang to her feet. “Will you call a cab,
Don?”</p>
<p>“Mine is waiting; but, dearest, you cannot
go without a coat,” as Beatrice, forgetful of
everything, hastened to the door. Quickly
Peggy ran upstairs to collect her belongings.</p>
<p>“Miss Beatrice,” Dick asked, “did you leave
a handkerchief of yours in the private office
that Wednesday?”</p>
<p>“I don’t remember. I may have dropped
one in the library just before Peggy called for
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</span>me in the carriage. I burst out crying on the
way to the ball, and she had to lend me one of
hers. Thanks, dear,” as Peggy returned with
her wraps. Hurley ran down the steps and
put her suit case in the waiting vehicle.</p>
<p>“Here is your box, Beatrice,” and Peggy
handed it back to her.</p>
<p>Beatrice looked at it with great distaste.
“Except that it has my marriage certificate in
it, I could not bear to touch it,” she said.</p>
<p>“Give it to me.” Gordon took the box and
slipped it into his overcoat pocket. “I will return
you the certificate, dearest; but to-morrow
I intend to go over the Aqueduct Bridge and
throw the cat’s-eye into the Potomac.”</p>
<p>“Good night, dear Mrs. Macallister.” Beatrice’s
eyes were bright with tears as she kissed
her. “How can I thank you all for what you
have done for me? Good night, dear, dear
Peggy,” and shaking hands warmly with Dick,
she ran lightly down the steps, as Mrs. Macallister
closed her front door.</p>
<p>Gordon helped her into the cab, gave the address
to the driver; then hesitated. Beatrice
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</span>leaned forward and touched the empty seat beside
her.</p>
<p>“Donald—my husband—come home.”</p>
<p>And even in the dim illumination of the street
lamp, Gordon saw in her glorious eyes the light
that never was on land or sea, and he gathered
her in his arms with a sigh of deep happiness
as the cab started homeward.</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>Dick followed Peggy back into the library
with a fast-beating heart. Now or never!
Mrs. Macallister had discreetly disappeared.</p>
<p>“Peggy,” he said, standing back of her as
she faced the open fire, “there’s something I
want to say to you—”</p>
<p>“Well, say it,” provokingly; but catching
sight of Dick’s determined face in the mirror
over the mantel, she took fright. “I wonder
where Granny is?”</p>
<p>“Oh, bother Granny! Peggy, darling—no,
you sha’n’t dodge,” as Peggy moved slightly
away and stood with head half averted. “I’ve
always adored you, always. The first, the very
first encouragement you ever gave me was that
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</span>challenge. I have won, thank God! I know I
am not half worthy of you; but I want you
so, my darling.” There was no doubting the
passionate longing in his low, tense voice.
“Peggy—I have come for my reward.”</p>
<p>No answer. A log broke in half in the glowing
fire, casting sparks in every direction.
Dick drew a long breath and squared his shoulders—so
be it, he would go.</p>
<p>As he moved slightly, Peggy turned her
blushing face, and the alluring eyes twinkled at
him for a second.</p>
<p>“Why don’t you take your reward?” she
whispered.</p>
<p class="center no-indent">THE END</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="transnote"><div class="chapter">
<p class="ph2 nobreak"><span class="smcap">Transcriber’s Notes:</span></p>
</div>
<p>On page 39, the word “be” has been added to the phrase “will used against you.”</p>
<p>On page 70, half-past has been changed to half past.</p>
<p>On page 157, hatpin has been changed to hat-pin.</p>
<p>On page 159, door jamb has been changed to door-jamb.</p>
<p>On page 235, everyone has been changed to every one.</p>
<p>On page 253, watch-chain has been changed to watch chain.</p>
<p>On page 341, “in in” has been changed to “in it”.</p>
<p>All other spelling, hyphenation, dialect and non-English pronunciations have
been left as typeset.</p></div>
<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 69004 ***</div>
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