“Who has been murdered?” he asked.
“The man whom I told you about yesterday—the numismatist, Hume.”
“Ah!” Ashton-Kirk drew in a long breath and his eyes began to glow. There was an instant’s pause, then he said: “The hour is rather unconventional; but if you will receive me, I’ll have you tell me about this matter privately and at once.”
“By all means,” she answered, eagerly. “I was about to beg of you to come.”
“In a half hour,” said he, briefly. “Goodbye.”
He hung up the receiver and touched one of the buttons. When Stumph came, he said:
“Turn the cold water into my bath. Then order the car in haste.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Afterwards you can lay out a rough suit, heavy shoes and a soft hat.”
“Instantly, sir.”
Within twenty minutes Ashton-Kirk ran down the steps and sprang into the powerful looking car that awaited him; and well within the half hour he rang the bell at the marble palace built by the steel magnate during the last years of his life. A heavy-eyed manservant admitted him with astonished resentment. Miss Vale, looking very tall and very pale, met him in the hall. But for all her pallor she seemed quite collected, even smiling.
“Oh, I’m so sorry to have brought you out so early and on such a dismal morning,” she said, lightly, leading him into a room at one side. “I’m sure it is very damp.”
She sat down and motioned him to a chair; he studied her with some surprise; the transition from wild terror to her present calm was most notable.
“There has been a recovery of poise, evidently,” Ashton-Kirk told himself. “She is still frightened, but for some reason is anxious to hide it.”
“This morning,” said Miss Vale, with a laugh that rang perfectly, “I found that I was only a woman after all. This—this dreadful thing so startled me that for a time I did not know what to do. My first impulse was to call you, and I acted upon it. But,” with a pretty gesture of apology, “when I had recovered myself somewhat, I saw that I had disturbed you unnecessarily.”
“You don’t mean that, after all, Hume is not—”
She held up her hand for him to stop. A strong shudder seemed to run through her; she bent her head so that the light would not fall too strongly upon her face. In a moment, however, she recovered.
“Yes, yes,” she said, her voice perfectly under control. “He is dead—shockingly murdered. What I mean is, that while the event is very dreadful—still, it does not really concern me more than any other crime of the same nature which we see staring at us from the columns of the newspapers every day. This man’s being in my mind so much of late caused me to become unnerved when I heard the news.”
“When did it occur?”
“Sometime since midnight.”
There was a silence. Miss Vale arose and began to pace the room. The long white cloak that had draped her fell away; she wore a ball dress and her arms and shoulders shone splendidly under the lights.
“How did you hear of it?” asked Ashton-Kirk.
There was a scarcely perceptible hesitancy; then she answered:
“Through the newspapers. We were returning from Mrs. Barron’s about . The papers had just come out, and I felt a curiosity to see them wet from the press. When I reached home the first thing that caught my eye was the account of Hume’s death.”
“Did you call me up at once?”
“Yes. As I have said, it was the first thing that occurred to me. And again I beg your pardon for having disturbed you uselessly.”
Ashton-Kirk gestured this aside.
“It may be that the affair will turn out to have some interesting features,” said he. “And with that possibility in view, I am rather pleased than not in having an opportunity of getting so early upon the ground.”
She paused in her pacing, and turned upon him a startled look.
“You do not mean to go there—to Christie Place,” she said.
“I may as well. I may be of use.” He looked at her for a moment steadily, then asked: “Do you know of any reason why I should not go?”
Instantly the startled look vanished; a smile lit up the pale face, wanly.
“Of course not,” she cried. “You are interested in dreadful happenings—I had forgotten that. I suppose you are really quite delighted; and instead of my craving pardon I should be expecting praise, for putting you in the way of this one.”
She laughed lightly; a smile flitted across his keen face, as he rose and said:
“What has happened may make a change in the affairs of Allan Morris.”
She came to him and laid a hand upon his arm. Her coolness won his admiration.
“I beg of you to forget all that I told you yesterday,” she said. “I had been brooding so long that I had begun to fancy all sorts of impossible things. I see very clearly now that this man Hume could have had nothing of any consequence to do with Mr. Morris. It was a romance—a rather foolish fancy, and a very wild one.”
There was sweet seriousness in her manner; and the lurking smile still hovered about her lips. It was as though a return to reason had driven away the fears of the day before—the alarmed girl had given place to a sensible woman.
But behind all this, Ashton-Kirk could detect something else. The almost swooning terror of the girl who had spoken to him over the telephone was still there—held rigidly in check to be sure, but unquestionably there. While her lips smiled, the eyes sometimes betrayed her; and there was a tenseness about her that almost screamed. Her goodbye was soft and kindly spoken; she held out her hand, frankly, and thanked him for his interest. There was nothing hurried in her manner; it was all smoothly and leisurely done. And yet he felt that if she had followed the impulse that
