“Ah!” said the lady in yellow, leaning forward breathlessly. Miss West was staring at me coldly, but, once started, I had to stumble on.
“That a girl was trying to rouse me, and that she told me I had been on fire twice already.” A shudder went around the table.
“But surely that isn’t the end of the story,” Mrs. Dallas put in aggrievedly. “Why, that’s the most tantalizing thing I ever heard.”
“I’m afraid that’s all,” I said. “She went her way and I went mine. If she recalls me at all, she probably thinks of me as a weak-kneed individual who faints like a woman when everything is over.
“What did I tell you?” Mrs. Dallas asserted triumphantly. “He fainted, did you hear? when everything was over! He hasn’t begun to tell it.”
I would have given a lot by that time if I had not mentioned the girl. But McKnight took it up there and carried it on.
“Blakeley is a regular geyser,” he said. “He never spouts until he reaches the boiling point. And by that same token, although he hasn’t said much about the Lady of the Wreck, I think he is crazy about her. In fact, I am sure of it. He thinks he has locked his secret in the caves of his soul, but I call you to witness that he has it nailed to his face. Look at him!”
I squirmed miserably and tried to avoid the startled eyes of the girl across the table. I wanted to choke McKnight and murder the rest of the party.
“It isn’t fair,” I said as coolly as I could. “I have my fingers crossed; you are five against one.”
“And to think that there was a murder on that very train,” broke in the lady in yellow. “It was a perfect crescendo of horrors, wasn’t it? And what became of the murdered man, Mr. Blakeley?”
McKnight had the sense to jump into the conversation and save my reply.
“They say good Pittsburgers go to Atlantic City when they die,” he said. “So - we are reasonably certain the gentleman did not go to the seashore.”
The meal was over at last, and once in the drawing-room it was clear we hung heavy on the hostess’ hands. “It is so hard to get people for bridge in September,” she wailed. “there is absolutely nobody in town. Six is a dreadful number.”
“It’s a good poker number,” her husband suggested.
The matter settled itself, however. I was hopeless, save as a dummy; Miss West said it was too hot for cards, and went out on a balcony that overlooked the Mall. With obvious relief Mrs. Dallas had the card-table brought, and I was face to face with the minute I had dreaded and hoped for for a week.
Now it had come, it was more difficult than I had anticipated. I do not know if there was a moon, but there was the urban substitute for it - the arc light. It threw the shadow of the balcony railing in long black bars against her white gown, and as it swung sometimes her face was in the light. I drew a chair close so that I could watch her.
“Do you know,” I said, when she made no effort at speech, “that you are a much more formidable person to- night, in that gown, than you were the last time I saw you?”
The light swung on her face; she was smiling faintly. “The hat with the green ribbons!” she said. “I must take it back; I had almost forgotten.”
“I have not forgotten - anything.” I pulled myself up short. This was hardly loyalty to Richey. His voice came through the window just then, and perhaps I was wrong, but I thought she raised her head to listen.
“Look at this hand,” he was saying. “Regular pianola: you could play it with your feet.”
“He’s a dear, isn’t he?” Alison said unexpectedly. “No matter how depressed and downhearted I am, I always cheer up when I see Richey.”
“He’s more than that,” I returned warmly. “He is the most honorable fellow I know. If he wasn’t so much that way, he would have a career before him. He wanted to put on the doors of our offices, Blakeley and McKnight, P. B. H., which is Poor But Honest.”
>From my comparative poverty to the wealth of the girl beside me was a single mental leap. From that wealth to the grandfather who was responsible for it was another.
“I wonder if you know that I had been to Pittsburg to see your grandfather when I met you?” I said.
“You?” She was surprised.
“Yes. And you remember the alligator bag that I told you was exchanged for the one you cut off my arm?” She nodded expectantly. “Well, in that valise were the forged Andy Bronson notes, and Mr. Gilmore’s deposition that they were forged.”
She was on her feet in an instant. “In that bag!” she cried. “Oh, why didn’t you tell me that before? Oh, it’s so ridiculous, so - so hopeless. Why, I could - ”
She stopped suddenly and sat down again. “I do not know that I am sorry, after all,” she said after a pause. “Mr. Bronson was a friend of my father’s. I - I suppose it was a bad thing for you, losing the papers?”
“Well, it was not a good thing,” I conceded. “While we are on the subject of losing things, do you remember - do you know that I still have your gold purse?”
She did not reply at once. The shadow of a column was over her face, but I guessed that she was staring at me.
“You have it!” She almost whispered.
“I picked it up in the street car,” I said, with a cheerfulness I did not feel. “It looks like a very opulent little purse.”
Why didn’t she speak about the necklace? For just a careless word to make me sane again!
