Opal Madvig's room was chiefly blue. She, in a blue and silver wrapper, was propped up on pillows in her bed when Ned Beaumont came in. She was blue-eyed as her father and grandmother, long-boned as they and firm- featured, with fair pink skin still childish in texture. Her eyes were reddened now.
She dropped a piece of toast on the tray in her lap, held her hand out to Ned Beaumont, showed him strong white teeth in a smile, and said: 'Hello, Ned.' Her voice was not steady.
He did not take her hand. He slapped the back of it lightly, said, ''Lo, snip,' and sat on the foot of her bed. He crossed his long legs and took a cigar from his pocket. 'Smoke hurt the head?'
'Oh, no,' she said.
He nodded as if to himself, returned the cigar to his pocket, and dropped his careless air. He twisted himself around on the bed to look more directly at her. His eyes were humid with sympathy. His voice was husky. 'I know, youngster, it's tough.'
She stared baby-eyed at him. 'No, really, most of the headache's gone and it wasn't so awfully wretched anyway.' Her voice was no longer unsteady.
He smiled at her with thinned lips and asked: 'So I'm an outsider now?'
She put a small frown between her brows. 'I don't know what you mean, Ned.'
Hard of mouth and eye, he replied: 'I mean Taylor.'
Though the tray moved a little on her knees, nothing in her face changed. She said: 'Yes, but—you know—I hadn't seen him for months, since Dad made—'
Ned Beaumont stood up abruptly. He said, 'All right,' over his shoulder as he moved towards the door.
The girl in the bed did not say anything.
He went out of the room and down the stairs.
Paul Madvig, putting on his coat in the lower hall, said: 'I've got to go down to the office to see about those sewer-contracts. I'll drop you at Farr's office if you want.'
Ned Beaumont had said, 'Fine,' when Opal's voice came to them from upstairs: 'Ned, oh, Ned!'
'Righto,' he called back and then to Madvig: 'Don't wait if you're in a hurry.'
Madvig looked at his watch. 'I ought to run along. See you at the Club tonight?'
Ned Beaumont said, 'Uh-huh,' and went upstairs again.
Opal had pushed the tray down to the foot of the bed. She said: 'Close the door.' When he had shut the door she moved over in bed to make a place for him to sit beside her. Then she asked: 'What makes you act like that?'
'You oughtn't to lie to me,' he said gravely as he sat down.
'But, Ned!' Her blue eyes tried to probe his brown ones.
He asked: 'How long since you saw Taylor?'
'You mean to talk to?' Her face and voice were candid. 'It's been weeks and—'
He stood up abruptly. He said, 'All right,' over his shoulder while walking towards the door.
She let him get within a step of the door before she called: 'Oh, Ned, don't make it so hard for me.'
He turned around slowly, his face blank.
'Aren't we friends?' she asked.
'Sure,' he replied readily without eagerness, 'but it's hard to remember it wi-men we're lying to each other.'
She turned sidewise in bed, laying her cheek against the topmost pillow, and began to cry. She made no sound. Her tears fell down on the pillow and made a greyish spot there.
He returned to the bed, sat down beside her again, and moved her head from the pillow to his shoulder.
She cried there silently for several minutes. Then muffled words came from where her mouth was pressed against his coat: 'Did—did you know I had been meeting him?'
'Yes.'
She sat up straight, alarmed. 'Did Dad know it?'
'I don't think so. I don't know.'
She lowered her head to his shoulder so that her next words were muffled. 'Oh, Ned, I was with him only yesterday afternoon, all afternoon!'
He tightened his arm around her, but did not say anything.
After another pause she asked: 'Who—who do you think could have done it to him?'
He winced.
SI-me raised her head suddenly. There was no weakness in her now. 'Do you know, Ned?'
He hesitated, wet his lips, mumbled: 'I think I do.'
'Who?' she asked fiercely.
He hesitated again, evading her eyes, then put a slow question to her: 'Will you promise to keep it to yourself till the time comes?'
'Yes,' she replied quickly, but when he would have spoken she stopped him by grabbing his nearer shoulder with both hands. 'Wait. I won't promise unless you'll promise me that they won't get off, that they'll be caught and punished.'
'I can't promise that. Nobody can.'
She stared at him, biting her lip, then said: 'All right, then, I'll promise anyway. Who?'
'Did he ever tell you that he owed a gambler named Bernie Despain more money than he could pay?'
'Did—did this Despain—?'
'I think so, but did he ever say anything to you about owing—?'
'I knew he was in trouble. He told me that, but he didn't say what it was except that he and his father had had a row about some money and that he was—'desperate' is what he said.'
'Didn't mention Despain?'
'No. What was it? Why do you think this Despain did it?'
'He had over a thousand dollars' worth of Taylor's I 0 Us and couldn't collect. He left town last night in a hurry. The police are looking for him now.' He lowered his voice, looking a little sidewise at her. 'Would you do something to help them catch and convict him?'
'Yes. What?'
'I mean something a bit off-color. You see, it's going to be hard to convict him, but, if he's guilty, would you do something that might be a little bit—well—off-color to make sure of nailing him?'
'Anything,' she replied.
He sighed and rubbed his lips together.
'What is it you want done?' she asked eagerly.
'I want you to get me one of his hats.'
'What?'
'I want one of Taylor's hats,' Ned Beaumont said. His face had flushed. 'Can you get me one?'
She was bewildered. 'But what for, Ned?'
'To make sure of nailing Despain. That's all I can tell you now. Can you get it for me or can't you?'
'I—I think I can, but I wish you'd—'
'How soon?'
'This afternoon, I think,' she said, 'but I wish—'
He interrupted her again. 'You don't want to know anything about it. The fewer know about it the better, and the same thing goes for your getting the hat.' He put his arm around her and drew her to him. 'Did you really love him, snip, or was it just because your father—'
'I did really love him,' she sobbed. 'I'm pretty sure—I'm sure I did.'
II.The Hat Trick
