CHAPTER VIIITHE CHALLENGE
Justbefore 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.
“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.
“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.”
“The Count is very agreeable,” answeredPeggy, demurely. “Besides, I was giving him lessons in English.”
Dick snorted. “Youmay call it what you like; but the Count is in dead earnest.”
“Really, Mr. Tillinghast—” Peggy’s head went up. Dick, seeing the light of combat in her eyes, hastened to interrupt her.
“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.”
“It is customary to ask for them,” frigidly.
“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.”
Dick’s voice expressed more bitterness than the occasion warranted. Swiftly Peggy’s kind heart relented.
“I didn’t keep a dance, Dick, because,” she lowered her voice, “I—I—thought you would prefer to take me out to supper.”
“You darling!” Dick leaned impulsively nearer; then cursed inwardly as Tom Blake’s stout form stopped before them.
“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.
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.
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 desirableparti, and hadoften been relentlessly pursued by mothers with marriageable daughters on their hands.
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.
“Mademoiselle,” said the Frenchman, bowing before Peggy, “have I zer permission to present to youmon ami, 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.”
Count de Smirnoff acknowledged the introductionsmost courteously, and then, to Dick’s secret annoyance, promptly appropriated the chair nearest Peggy and devoted himself to her.
“Will you look at Mrs. Wheeler,” whispered Tom Blake to his companions. “Solomon in all his glory couldn’t touch her.”
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.
Dick drew a long breath after they had passed. “My eyes actually hurt from such illumination. Why, oh, why does Washington accept such people?”
“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—” hepaused dramatically—“she draws the line on the Army and Navy people here, because her calling list is already so large!”
“How’s poor Gordon?” he asked, suddenly, a few minutes later.
“He refuses to see anyone, or talk,” answered Dick.
“Poor devil! What made him do such a mad action?”
“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.”
“I agree with you, Dick. There has been some dreadful mistake,” chimed in Peggy.
“Is it the Trevor murder of which you speak?” asked de Smirnoff. He spoke English perfectly, but for a slight accent.
“Yes, Monsieur. Even the District Attorney thinks someone has blundered; he is furious because the coroner’s jury brought in that verdict against Gordon.”
“Oh, well, he’ll have a chance to clear himself before the Grand Jury two weeks from now.After all, Dick, he virtually admitted he was guilty.”
“I don’t see it that way,” answered Dick, obstinately.
“Well, I hope he can prove an alibi. But if he does it will go hard with Beatrice Trevor. Suspicion already points to her.”
“Oh! no, no!” cried Peggy, in horror, and she looked appealingly at Dick.
“I’m afraid so,” he said, sorrowfully, answering her unspoken thought. “You see, it’s very obvious that she has some secret to conceal.”
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.
“You mustn’t say such things,” she said, angry with herself for her disloyal thoughts, and her face paled perceptibly.
“I am sorry I spoke in that way,” replied Dick. “I had forgotten for the moment that she is your greatest friend. Indeed, Peggy,I meant no offense. You know I would do anything for you, anything.”
“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.
“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.”
“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.
“To find ze murderer? But ze police have done zat, Mademoiselle,” de Morny ejaculated.
“No, no; they have only arrested a man on suspicion. Miss Peggy thinks the murderer is still at large.”
“As Mademoiselle sinks, so sinks I,” answered the Count gallantly.
“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.”
“In what way, Count?” asked Dick.
“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 acause celebrein the Capital of this great country. It occurs to me that the burglar has not told all he knows.”
“Since telling his story at the inquest he refuses to talk.”
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.”
“You really think Nelson is keeping something back?” asked Tom, incredulously. “Why, the poor devil is only too anxious toclear himself. Surely, if he knew he would not hesitate to tell the whole truth?”
“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.”
“That’s true, too; yet fear of the gallows would make most people talk.”
“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.”
“What, for instance?” inquired Dick, eagerly.
“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.”