"Eleven-thirty," said Mrs. Walbrough. "And in the country we have
luncheon early, as you know. Would you like your coffee here, or will
you wait?"
"I want to eat with you," said Clancy.
"And with Tom and Philip Vandervent, too, I suppose."
"Are they here?"
Mrs. Walbrough nodded gravely.
"I got Tom on the 'phone after you went to bed last night. He came on
the first train this morning. He wanted, of course, to do anything for
Mrs. Carey that he could. But Mr. Randall is attending to everything. He
and Mrs. Carey left on an early train for New York."
"And Mr. Vandervent?" Timidly, Clancy asked the question.
Mrs. Walbrough smiled.
"There were certain matters that had to be gone over with the Dutchess
County authorities. He stayed. That's why he _said_ he stayed."
Clancy's expression was innocence personified.
"What other reason could there be?"
Mrs. Walbrough hugged her.
"Don't you dare attempt to deceive me, young lady." She slapped her
gently.
In something less than half an hour Clancy was down-stairs, in the
dining-room, attacking healthily a meal that Mrs. Walbrough described,
because it was really neither breakfast nor lunch, as "brunch."
During the meal, in response to Walbrough's questions, Vandervent told
the gist of the written confession that Don Carey had left behind him.
It was a sordid tale. Carey, in that pursuit of pleasure which kills,
had started an alleged office where young women applied for theatrical
positions. Beiner, more legitimately engaged in the same business, had
become acquainted with Carey. Spofford's discoveries were verified in
Carey's own handwriting. Beiner had introduced Carey to a young woman.
Carey, retaining some decency, did not mention the girl's name. He said,
however, that Beiner had become jealous of his attentions to the young
woman, and friendship between the two men had ceased. Learning what
Carey was doing, Beiner had attempted blackmail. Carey, intending to
have it out with Beiner, had knocked on Beiner's door. During the
intimacy that had existed previous to Beiner's blackmailing attempts,
Beiner had given Carey a key to his office.
Carey had heard a groan coming from behind the locked door. He had
entered, with Beiner's key, and found the man lying, half-conscious,
upon the floor. The scene, to Carey's drink-inflamed mind, spelled
opportunity. He had snatched the paper-knife from Beiner's desk and
stabbed the man to death. Then he had quietly left the office, locking
it after him.
And that was all. Although the newspapers, naturally enough, "played it
up" to the extent of columns, it was a crime in what is known as "high
life," and they do not come too often for the public. Judge Walbrough
had brought the early editions of the afternoon papers with him and
permitted Clancy to look at them.
Spofford had not missed his chance. He was hailed as the greatest
detective genius of the day.
"Poor Mrs. Carey!" said Clancy.
The others nodded gravely. "Not another woman in New York could live it
down," said the judge.
"Why not?" demanded Clancy. "She did nothing wrong."
The judge shrugged.
"Scandal has touched her intimately. That is enough--for any other
woman, but not for Sophie Carey. She has too many friends, is too great
an artist--let's hope she finds happiness now."
The judge pushed back his chair and left the room, ostensibly in search
of a pipe. The others drifted into the living-room. Clancy, staring out
at the snow, was suddenly conscious that Vandervent stood at her elbow.
She turned, to find that Mrs. Walbrough was no longer with them.
"Nice--nice view--" stammered Vandervent.
Clancy colored. She felt her heart beating.
"Isn't it?" she agreed.
Vandervent's trembling nervousness communicated itself to her. She half
turned toward him, ready to yield herself. But his eyes, that, a moment
ago, she had known were fixed upon the back of her head now stared out
the window, over her shoulder. She turned again.
Up the Walbrough drive was coming a sleigh, an open affair. Besides the
driver there was only one man. She looked up at Vandervent; His brows
were knitted; behind his glasses his eyes gleamed angrily. Involuntarily
she drew near to him.
"I--I'll have to see him," he exclaimed. "Reporter from the _Era_.
Thought that I was all through with him. I wonder----"
The man descended from the sleigh. They saw him advance up the veranda
steps, and then they heard his ring. A moment later, Mrs. Hebron entered
the room.
"A gentleman to see Miss Deane," she announced.
And now Clancy understood why Vandervent had withheld the speech that
she knew he wanted to utter, why he had seemed alarmed. She gasped. Then
she grew reassured as she felt Vandervent's fingers on her own.
"Show him in here," said Vandervent.
Mrs. Hebron left the room.
"Just--say nothing," whispered Vandervent. "Leave him to me."
Clancy knew. The scandal that she had thought forever averted was about
to break again. Her fingers were limp in Vandervent's clasp. She
released them as Mrs. Hebron returned, followed by the young man who had
descended from the sleigh.
"Miss Deane? Ah, how do, Mr. Vandervent?" he said.
"How do, Penwell? Miss Deane, let me present my good friend Roscoe
Penwell, the _Era_'s greatest reporter."
Penwell laughed.
"Why limit yourself when you're paying compliments? Why not the
_world's_ greatest reporter?" he asked.
"I amend my statement," smiled Vandervent.
Clancy held out her hand. Penwell bowed over it. He was a good-looking
youngster, not so very many years older than herself, Clancy judged.
"Penwell," said Vandervent, "will publish his memoirs some day. Be nice
to him, Miss Deane, and you'll receive a gift-copy."
Penwell colored.
"Quit it!" he grumbled. The mirth went out of his voice. "Miss Deane,
the _Era_ wants a statement from you."
Before she could reply, Vandervent spoke. "Then we _weren't_ mistaken.
The maid said you asked for Miss Deane, but----"
Penwell shook his head.
"Naughty, naughty, Mr. Vandervent! You can't fool me."
"Then I won't try," said Vandervent crisply. "What is it that you want?"
His tone was business-like.
Penwell's reply was equally so.
"The _Era_ has learned, from an authoritative source, that Miss Deane
was in the office of Morris Beiner shortly before he was murdered; that,
in short, she was sought by the police on suspicion of having committed
the crime."
"Carey's dead, and left a confession," said Vandervent.