The Trevor case

“Beatrice, dear, why did you secrete your broken hat-pin, and where did you get it after the murder?” demanded Peggy, finding courage at last to ask the question which had worried her so much. Then, seeing Beatrice’s open-eyed surprise, she added: “Your box caught when I opened my secret drawer on Friday night, and your cat’s-eye fell out. I instantly recognized it. But believe me, dear, I never for one moment thought you were connected with Mrs. Trevor’s death.”

“She never did,” affirmed Dick. “In fact, it was Peggy’s desire to clear you from suspicion which urged me on in my efforts to find the real murderer.”

“Peggy, dear Peggy; you best of friends.” Beatrice leaned forward and kissed her warmly. “Did you open the box?”

“No, indeed!” indignantly. “The cat’s-eye fell out of the broken end, and I simply thrust it back again without investigating further.”

“I wish you had, dear; you would have understood then the dilemma I was placed in. I put our marriage certificate in the bottom of the box under the cotton, and then dropped the cat’s-eye on top. Father told me, after Don’s arrest, that the police would have great difficulty in proving his guilt because they could find no motive for the crime,” she went on to explain. “He himself was as puzzled as they. I instantly thought of our marriage certificate, and fearing its discovery might injure Don, I made plans to hide it.

“As to the broken pin—I never found it until after Mrs. Trevor’s funeral. When I put on black I decided to send all my dresses to a dear friend in New York. It was Suzanne’s afternoon out, but I was in a great hurry to send the express package, so I took down my dresses myself and laid them on the bed. On folding the ball dress I had worn at the Bachelors’ Cotillion I found the cat’s-eye securely caught by the gold setting in the lace underflounce of the train.

“I was simply horrified. I had no doubt whatever that the pin had been used to murder my stepmother. I knew I had left it in the private office on that Wednesday afternoon when I took off my coat and hat there. I went to the office to write a note to Peggy, which I gave to Mrs. Macallister in the parlor later on. I thought,” she glanced appealingly at Gordon, “that the guilty man had dropped the pin in the vestibule; for it must have caught in my dress when I let go of my train to insert my latch key and open the front door.

“I reasoned that the police would never believe my explanation if they found the pin in my possession, unless I told them the story of my quarrel with Mrs. Trevor, and of our marriage, Don. I knew Peggy was coming to see me, and made up my mind to ask her to keep the pasteboard box for me. You already know what took place on my return from the ball by my testimony at the inquest,” continued Beatrice. “When I heard Mrs. Trevor had been murdered, I thought Don had come to the house that night and had killed her in a moment of ungovernable rage. Can you ever forgive me, dear?” clasping his hand in both of hers.

“There can be no question of that,” said Gordon passionately. “You had every cause to doubt me. Mine was the fault. I have acted like a blind, crazy idiot. Listen: when in London some four years ago, I met Hélène de Beaupré and became very much infatuated with her. Well, she made a fool of me, as she did of others. One day, tired of having me around, she dismissed me. That ended the affair as far as I was concerned.”

“Just a moment,” interrupted Dick. “Did Alfred Clark see you and Hélène at the Home Office applying for a special license?”

If he had exploded a bomb under their noses, he could not have created a greater disturbance. Gordon sat up as if he had been shot, gazing incredulously at Dick.

“Great Heavens!” he ejaculated. “What an accomplished liar Clark is! And yet, this fabrication has a foundation of truth. He did see us in the Home Office talking to the clerk in charge of special licenses. We were waiting there for Sam Peters. You remember him, don’t you?” Dick nodded. “Sam was to be married at noon. He knew no one in London, nor did his American bride-elect, except Hélène and myself. He asked me to be his best man, and Hélène to act as a witness. He had to procure his special license, so we agreed to meet him at the Home Office and go with him to the church. Sam will verify what I am telling you, if you care to ask him.”

“No, no, Don, I’ll take your word for it,” said Dick, hastily.

“Beatrice has just told you of our marriage,” continued Gordon. “I never knew until your theater party, Dick, which you gave on the night of my arrival here, that Beatrice’s stepmother and Hélène de Beaupré were one and the same person. Beatrice always spoke of her as ‘Mrs. Trevor.’ Mrs. Trevor greeted me that night as a stranger, and of course I took my cue from her. In the days that followed she must have seen how deeply and passionately I loved Beatrice, for she hinted as much to me. Then she told me that she had a package of my foolish, extravagant letters written years ago.

“‘I never throw anything away that might be of possible use,’ she went on. ‘Do you think the Attorney General would look with favor on your suit for his daughter’s hand if he saw those letters?’

“I stared at her aghast, as the whole horrible situation flashed over me. What in Heaven’s name was I to do? I should have confided everything to you then, my darling, but no man likes to speak of past love affairs, no matter how innocent, to his bride.

“For days Hélène played with me as a cat does with a mouse, keeping me on tenter-hooks. But on the morning of the third I received a note from her, asking me to go and see her that night about eleven thirty, and saying that she had decided to return my letters. Overjoyed, I gladly kept the appointment, and she admitted me after I had given the signal agreed on. We went at once to the private office.

“Here are the letters,” she said, speaking in a low voice. “I return them to you freely. But first you must pledge me your word as an officer and a gentleman never to mention them to either my husband or Beatrice.”

“Of course, I willingly promised, and after a few words of thanks I left the house as silently as I had entered. I went directly to the Benedict, destroyed the letters, then on to the ball.”

“Good Heavens! did she not give you my message—my ring?” gasped Beatrice.

“No; neither of them.”

“Clever woman,” commented Mrs. Macallister. “She arranged it so you were in honor bound never to speak of the letters to Beatrice; and the latter, believing you false, would never refer to them either. Of course, she reckoned without the knowledge of your secret marriage. Mrs. Trevor was a shrewd judge of human nature. It was a pretty scheme she hatched to separate you two, and not get caught herself.”

“You have summed it up exactly, Mrs. Macallister,” agreed Gordon. “The first letter she showed Beatrice was probably one written years ago. I was bitterly hurt and angry, Beatrice, when you refused to speak to me at the hall. Then you returned my letter, unopened, which I wrote as soon as I heard of Mrs. Trevor’s death.

“I was much surprised, at being summoned as a witness at the inquest. But when the coroner showed me my signet ring, which you, my dearest, had said you would never part with, and told me it had been found in the dead woman’s hand, I was bewildered—horrified. I jumped to the conclusion that you two had met, quarreled and—God forgive me—” Gordon could not continue; and Beatrice, with shining eyes bent toward him.

“And so,” she said, “you took the crime upon yourself that I might be spared. It was noble of you, dear heart,” and before them all, she kissed him passionately.

Mrs. Macallister swallowed a suspicious lump in her throat, while Peggy buried her nose in a convenient pillow.

“Tell us, Dick, how the real criminal came to confess,” she said as soon as she could speak clearly.

With bated breath they listened to his thrilling account of de Smirnoff’s vengeance.

“Some of the unfortunate story has to come out in the papers,” ended Dick. “It cannot be hushed up, altogether, as justice has to be done the living.”

“My poor father!” cried Beatrice. “Where is he!”

“At his house completely prostrated by the news.”

“I must go to him at once.” Beatrice sprang to her feet. “Will you call a cab, Don?”

“Mine is waiting; but, dearest, you cannot go without a coat,” as Beatrice, forgetful of everything, hastened to the door. Quickly Peggy ran upstairs to collect her belongings.

“Miss Beatrice,” Dick asked, “did you leave a handkerchief of yours in the private office that Wednesday?”

“I don’t remember. I may have dropped one in the library just before Peggy called for me in the carriage. I burst out crying on the way to the ball, and she had to lend me one of hers. Thanks, dear,” as Peggy returned with her wraps. Hurley ran down the steps and put her suit case in the waiting vehicle.

“Here is your box, Beatrice,” and Peggy handed it back to her.

Beatrice looked at it with great distaste. “Except that it has my marriage certificate in it, I could not bear to touch it,” she said.

“Give it to me.” Gordon took the box and slipped it into his overcoat pocket. “I will return you the certificate, dearest; but to-morrow I intend to go over the Aqueduct Bridge and throw the cat’s-eye into the Potomac.”

“Good night, dear Mrs. Macallister.” Beatrice’s eyes were bright with tears as she kissed her. “How can I thank you all for what you have done for me? Good night, dear, dear Peggy,” and shaking hands warmly with Dick, she ran lightly down the steps, as Mrs. Macallister closed her front door.

Gordon helped her into the cab, gave the address to the driver; then hesitated. Beatrice leaned forward and touched the empty seat beside her.

“Donald—my husband—come home.”

And even in the dim illumination of the street lamp, Gordon saw in her glorious eyes the light that never was on land or sea, and he gathered her in his arms with a sigh of deep happiness as the cab started homeward.

Dick followed Peggy back into the library with a fast-beating heart. Now or never! Mrs. Macallister had discreetly disappeared.

“Peggy,” he said, standing back of her as she faced the open fire, “there’s something I want to say to you—”

“Well, say it,” provokingly; but catching sight of Dick’s determined face in the mirror over the mantel, she took fright. “I wonder where Granny is?”

“Oh, bother Granny! Peggy, darling—no, you sha’n’t dodge,” as Peggy moved slightly away and stood with head half averted. “I’ve always adored you, always. The first, the very first encouragement you ever gave me was that challenge. I have won, thank God! I know I am not half worthy of you; but I want you so, my darling.” There was no doubting the passionate longing in his low, tense voice. “Peggy—I have come for my reward.”

No answer. A log broke in half in the glowing fire, casting sparks in every direction. Dick drew a long breath and squared his shoulders—so be it, he would go.

As he moved slightly, Peggy turned her blushing face, and the alluring eyes twinkled at him for a second.

“Why don’t you take your reward?” she whispered.

THE END