CHAPTER XVIPLAYING WITH FIRE
Itwas 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.
“Peggy! What have you been doing with yourself?” he exclaimed, detaining her small hand in his.
“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.”
“Is Mrs. Macallister ill?” he demanded.
“Oh, no. I gave her a dreadful fright, that was all. She found me in my room last night in a dead faint.”
“Great Heavens!” bending toward her much alarmed. “My dearest—what—”
“I am all right now; my fainting was causedby 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.”
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.
“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.”
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.”
“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!”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” wailed Peggy, wringingher 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.”
“I’ll do my very best, Peggy,” declared Dick, stoutly. “I do not need your urging. Remember all that is at stake for me.”
A bright blush dyed Peggy’s pale cheeks, and she hastened to change the subject.
“Have you seen Mr. Gordon?”
“No,” vexedly. “Gordon still declines to see anyone, and his lawyers are equally reticent. He even refused to allow them to apply for bail.”
“I thought a man arrested on a charge of murder was never permitted to be bailed out?”
“Oh, it has been done in the District on several occasions. I am told Gordon takes the situation very calmly.”
“My heart aches for him. It is like him toface his troubles so bravely. What has the Navy Department done about him, Dick?”
“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.”
“That is splendid!” exclaimed Peggy, her eyes shining with relief. “But then,” again perplexed, “why should Beatrice secrete the top of her hat-pin?”
“It is bewildering,” acknowledged Dick. “Perhaps she accidentally found the broken pin and did not dare confess that she had it,thinking it might involve her in further difficulties with the police.”
“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?”
“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.”
Her reply was interrupted by Hurley’s quiet entrance.
“Count de Morny, Miss Margaret,” he announced, holding back the portière, as the Frenchman appeared in the doorway.
“Ah, Mademoiselle,” he exclaimed, advancing with outstretched hand, “it is ze great plaiser to find zat you are in.”
Peggy was instantly conscious of the restrained antagonism between the two men as they greeted each other.
“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.”
“To-day it is just how-de-do and good-by, Count,” said Dick, briefly. “Unfortunately I must hurry away. Good-by again, Peggy.”
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.
“You look fatigue, Mademoiselle,” glancing keenly at her.
“I have been doing too much,” confessed Peggy. “Fortunately Lent will be here soon, and I can then take a much-needed rest.”
“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.”
“As a what?” questioned Peggy, puzzled.
“As a mink,” complaisantly. “I am ver happy to-day, Mademoiselle; for Madame, yourgrande mère, has given me permission to tell you how much I lof you.”
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.
“Will you not gif me some hope,” he pleaded, as soon as Hurley went out of the room. “Mon cœur, I adore you; I cannot lif without you.”
The excited Frenchman bent forward, caught Peggy’s little hand, and impulsively kissed it before she could snatch it away.
“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.”
“And that condition, Mademoiselle?”
“Is that you find the murderer of Mrs. Trevor.”
The pupils of de Morny’s eyes contractedsuddenly. An involuntary shiver ran down Peggy’s spine as they met hers.
“And zen—what, Mademoiselle?” he asked, slowly.
“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.”