The first week passed almost without incident.
Leonie came and went with the freedom of a servant, nothing that
occurred escaping her knowledge. She watched Lynde Pyne's visits to
the house with a sinking of the heart that was indescribable. Not a
thing out of the ordinary run of fashionable life had happened. She had
discovered nothing either of the thief or Miss Chandler's mysterious
connection with herself, and she was beginning to think she never would.
It was the evening of one of Mrs. Chandler's most pretentious dinner
parties, at which the wealth and fashion of New York had been largely
represented, and Evelyn Chandler, in a _decollete_ gown of gray _crepe_
and La France roses, had rarely appeared to greater advantage, her
sparkling wit and brilliancy of humor making her the attraction of the
evening.
From a distance Leonie looked on, her rebellious heart throbbing with
something very like envy, a sentiment of which she was infinitely
ashamed, but seemed unable to control. Lynde Pyne, too, was there, and
a short conversation had taken place between them that had convinced
her that he loved the heiress, though he was doubtful of the success of
his suit. She had rarely if ever been more miserable than when she saw
the last guest depart.
She was dragging herself wearily to her room when a slight noise in an
adjacent hall attracted her. The subdued sound aroused her suspicions,
and slipping her slippers from her feet she advanced silently toward it.
"What are you doing here again?" she heard a voice ask in a whisper, a
voice so evidently Evelyn Chandler's that there was no room left for
doubt.
"I have come for money!" a man replied, in a half dogged, wholly
defiant sort of way.
"What, again?"
"Yes, and I must have it now!"
"But I have not a dollar in the world."
"That is not true; and if it were you could get it easily enough, as
you have done before."
"You told me, when I gave you the first thousand, that that would be
the last."
"You were not fool enough to believe it, were you?"
"Well, when is it to end?"
"When I come in possession of a million and can afford to live on my
own money."
"Have you no regard for the danger to me?"
"When you put it on a sentimental basis, my dear, you might ask if I am
not very tired of living without you. In that instance I should answer,
yes. I think old Moneybags would give you to me fast enough if he knew
as much as you and I do. Which do you prefer, my dear?"
The girl shuddered, and Leonie fancied she heard it there in the
stillness.
"How much do you want this time?" she asked, making no effort to
conceal the dull anger of her tone.
"A thousand will do."
"Impossible!"
"You always say so, but it invariably comes when you know it must! If
you can't get the money, another diamond bracelet will do."
Leonie's start almost betrayed her presence there. Evelyn Chandler,
then, the heiress and beauty, one of the rulers of New York society,
was the thief whom she had come there to apprehend. The thought was
horrible to her.
"Will this be the last?" cried Miss Chandler, in a strained voice.
"Not by any means, my dear. You must learn to save more for me out of
your dress money. I tell you what I will do. Give me this thousand and
I will be easy on you. You can give me a stated amount, so that you can
make your arrangements to have it ready at the beginning of each month,
and I will make no further demands upon you. Will that do?"
"How much will you want?"
"Well, say three hundred a month!"
"Never! If you keep this up you will make it impossible for me to do
anything. I will give you two hundred, and that is the last cent."
"We-ll," grumbled the man hesitatingly, "it is a beggarly amount,
considering all you have, but as I don't want to kill the goose that
lays the golden egg, I suppose I must yield the point. Now get me the
thousand and let me go before we are discovered."
"There is one thing I want to say to you first. Who do you suppose is
here in this house?"
"I have not an idea."
"Leonie Cuyler!"
"The devil! What is she doing here?"
"She is engaged as house-maid, but there is some mystery about it that
I cannot fathom."
"As sure as you live that old idiot, Godfrey Cuyler, sent her here for
a purpose. If you are smart, my girl, you will get rid of her without
loss of time."
"But how am I to do that?"
"I think I can manage it for you. It is an infernally dangerous thing,
and what is dangerous for you is for me. I'll think about it and write
to you to-morrow. Go and get the money now."
"You promise me that you will keep your word about the two hundred in
future?"
"Yes, I do. I don't want to be hard on you. You had better be in a
hurry. It is not safe for me to be in this house."
Knowing that it was worse than useless to argue the matter with him,
and also knowing that he was perfectly right about his own and her
insecurity, she heaved a sigh and turned away.
In the darkness her skirts touched Leonie's in passing, but she was
unconscious of it, and flitted silently down the broad stairs, guiding
her steps by passing her fingers along the wall.
Leonie followed noiselessly, scarcely daring to draw her breath.
Into the library Miss Chandler went, closing the great heavy door
behind her.
Leonie stood for a moment nonplused. She could not open the door
without Miss Chandler being aware of it, and that she did not desire.
A sudden idea seemed to strike her, and passing swiftly through the
drawing-room, she entered the conservatory and silently drew back the
portiere that separated it from the library.
By the dim light she could see Miss Chandler quite distinctly.
She had already possessed herself of a key by some means, and was
unlocking the desk in which Leonard Chandler had told Leonie he kept
his money.
The beauty of the blonde face was marred by an expression of great
anxiety, but there seemed to be not the slightest repugnance at the
disgusting act she was performing; on the contrary, there was a smile
of relief when she found that the drawer contained an even greater
amount than she required.
With unusual deliberation she counted out the money, laid it on the
desk, replaced what was left, and relocked the drawer. She picked
up the money, and was about to leave the room, when Leonie stepped
forward, allowing the portiere to fall behind her.
The hand that held the money fell upon the desk, and Miss Chandler
gazed at the girl aghast.
Leonie did not speak, but waited until Miss Chandler had fully
recovered herself.
"Why are you here at this hour?" the heiress demanded, haughtily.
"Surely you know that the servants are not allowed to be roaming over
the house in the middle of the night."
"I am not a servant, Miss Chandler," answered Leonie, with dignity,
"but a detective whom your father placed here to locate a thief! I am
sorry to say that I have found her."
"What do you mean?"
The tone was haughty enough, but the blue eyes faltered, and the cheeks
were white as death.
"I mean," answered Leonie, firmly, "that I shall have to report to
Mr. Chandler that the thief whom he has sworn to prosecute is his own
daughter."
Leonie laid her hand upon the burglar alarm that the room contained.
She had no intention of ringing it, but was simply trying to frighten
Miss Chandler into putting the money back, and making a promise that
the operation never should be repeated. Much as she loathed the act,
much as she despised the girl who could descend to so vile a thing, she
had no wish to disgrace her or the family of which she was a member.
But she was unprepared for what occurred.
With a spring like that of a tigress, Evelyn Chandler was upon her, and
had seized her hand.
"Do you know what you are doing?" she cried, hoarsely. "You would
disgrace me forever! I tell you that you shall not. Let go of that
bell, or as Heaven is my witness I will kill you, and escape before it
can be answered!"
By the flash of demoniacal light in the blue eyes, Leonie saw that the
girl meant what she said. Her hand fell from the bell-cord.
"Then put the money back," she said, as quietly as she could force
herself to speak.
"Never!" exclaimed Miss Chandler, vehemently. "Do you think my father
would believe you if you told this story to him, and I was not here?
To-morrow you may tell him what you wish."
"Then you propose to make me an accomplice to your act, so to speak, by
my remaining quiet, and saying nothing, while you rob your own father,
is that it?" cried Leonie, aghast at the girl's audacity.
"Exactly!" replied Miss Chandler, firmly, the memory of her danger
overcoming her fear.
"And I tell you," exclaimed Leonie with equal firmness, "that it shall
not be so! Put that money back, refuse in my presence to give that man
up-stairs any more, either now, or at any future time, and you are safe
from me. Refuse, and as God is my judge I will denounce you! You think
I am at your mercy. Look!"
She had prepared for some such emergency, little thinking under what
circumstances she would require it; and as she spoke she produced a
small Derringer revolver, which she did not point toward Miss Chandler,
but with it clasped in one hand she calmly laid the other upon the
bell-cord.
"Will you put that money back?" she asked, coolly.
"No!" cried Miss Chandler, half wildly. "Denounce me if you will;
disgrace me, if you wish. Do you not think I will not tell the story of
your infamous birth? Do you think that I have not seen that you are in
love with Lynde Pyne? Ha, ha! Tell this if you wish. It will disgrace
me, and then I shall not hesitate to tell the world that you are the
daughter of Lena Mauprat, who was condemned to the penitentiary for
stealing. What if I am the daughter of the same mother, and but the
adopted child of Leonard Chandler? I am legitimate, while you are not!"
Slowly the hand that held the bell-cord dropped. The one that held
the pistol relaxed its hold, and the weapon fell upon the chair that
was under it noiselessly, the dainty face became gray and drawn, and
without a cry or moan, Leonie Cuyler fell at her sister's feet.
Godfrey Cuyler's terrible suffering was explained at last.