THE CHALLENGE
JUST before midnight the Charity Ball, given annually for the benefit
of the Children’s Hospital, was at its height. The long ballroom at the
New Willard was almost too crowded for comfort, at least so thought the
dancing contingent.
“Come on over here out of the crowd, Peggy,” and Dick Tillinghast
pointed to one of the deep window recesses. It looked cool and
comfortable after the heat of the room, and with a sigh of relief Peggy
sank back in its kindly shelter. She was beginning to feel weary,
having danced every encore and extra.
“Now, I call this jolly,” went on Dick, fanning her vigorously.
“Peggy--you wretch--you have been flirting outrageously with little de
Morny all the evening.”
“The Count is very agreeable,” answered Peggy, demurely. “Besides, I
was giving him lessons in English.”
Dick snorted. “_You_ may call it what you like; but the Count is in
dead earnest.”
“Really, Mr. Tillinghast--” Peggy’s head went up. Dick, seeing the
light of combat in her eyes, hastened to interrupt her.
“Now, Peggy--please. You’ve been perfectly beastly to me all the
evening; never even saved me a dance, and I had to steal this one.”
“It is customary to ask for them,” frigidly.
“It wasn’t my fault. I was detained at the office, as you know
perfectly well. It wasn’t kind, Peggy, indeed it wasn’t.”
Dick’s voice expressed more bitterness than the occasion warranted.
Swiftly Peggy’s kind heart relented.
“I didn’t keep a dance, Dick, because,” she lowered her voice,
“I--I--thought you would prefer to take me out to supper.”
“You darling!” Dick leaned impulsively nearer; then cursed inwardly as
Tom Blake’s stout form stopped before them.
“Well, you two look very ‘comfy’; may I join you?” The chair, which
Peggy pushed toward him creaked under his weight. “This is a bully
alcove; you are in the crowd and yet not of it. Hello, de Morny, come
and sit with us. Miss Macallister was just asking for you,” and he
winked at Dick.
De Morny was walking past, vainly searching for Peggy, and he accepted
the invitation with alacrity. He had met her early in the season. Her
sunny disposition and fascinating personality had made instant appeal
to the Frenchman’s volatile nature. Wherever Peggy went, de Morny was
sure to follow, much to Dick’s silent fury.
Their mutual friends had not been slow to grasp the situation, and many
were the conjectures as to which man would win the little flirt, and,
incidentally, the Macallister millions. The money consideration did
not enter altogether into de Morny’s calculations, for contrary to the
usual order of things, he was wealthy. Belonging to the old nobility
of France, he was a most desirable _parti_, and had often been
relentlessly pursued by mothers with marriageable daughters on their
hands.
But many times Dick cursed Peggy’s prospective inheritance. Without a
penny except his salary, it was bitter indeed to the proud fellow to
feel that he was looked upon as a fortune hunter. They had been boy and
girl sweethearts when their parents had lived next door to each other
until the crash came. His father gave up home and personal belongings
to meet his creditors, dying shortly after, and Dick had been thrown
on his own resources during his freshman year at Harvard. It was
simply another case of from shirt sleeves to shirt sleeves in three
generations, no uncommon occurrence in America.
“Mademoiselle,” said the Frenchman, bowing before Peggy, “have I zer
permission to present to you _mon ami_, Count de Smirnoff.” He beckoned
to a tall stranger who had stopped just outside the alcove when de
Morny joined the little group. “And to you, also, Monsieur Blake, and
Monsieur Tillinghast.”
Count de Smirnoff acknowledged the introductions most courteously,
and then, to Dick’s secret annoyance, promptly appropriated the chair
nearest Peggy and devoted himself to her.
“Will you look at Mrs. Wheeler,” whispered Tom Blake to his companions.
“Solomon in all his glory couldn’t touch her.”
Mrs. Wheeler was dazzling to behold. Dressed in scarlet and gold,
with diamonds in front of her, diamonds on top of her, she easily
out-diamonded every woman present. The crowd parted to make way for
her as she moved slowly, very slowly up the long room. With the
Vice-President on one side of her and the British Ambassador on the
other, the apotheosis of the house of Wheeler was reached.
Dick drew a long breath after they had passed. “My eyes actually hurt
from such illumination. Why, oh, why does Washington accept such
people?”
“Because she possesses the Golden Key which unlocks most doors in
democratic America,” answered Tom, dryly. “She wined and dined herself
into our midst, and now--” he paused dramatically--“she draws the line
on the Army and Navy people here, because her calling list is already
so large!”
“How’s poor Gordon?” he asked, suddenly, a few minutes later.
“He refuses to see anyone, or talk,” answered Dick.
“Poor devil! What made him do such a mad action?”
“I don’t believe he is guilty,” said Dick, slowly. “He isn’t that sort.
He wouldn’t kill a man in cold blood, let alone strike a woman.”
“I agree with you, Dick. There has been some dreadful mistake,” chimed
in Peggy.
“Is it the Trevor murder of which you speak?” asked de Smirnoff. He
spoke English perfectly, but for a slight accent.
“Yes, Monsieur. Even the District Attorney thinks someone has
blundered; he is furious because the coroner’s jury brought in that
verdict against Gordon.”
“Oh, well, he’ll have a chance to clear himself before the Grand Jury
two weeks from now. After all, Dick, he virtually admitted he was
guilty.”
“I don’t see it that way,” answered Dick, obstinately.
“Well, I hope he can prove an alibi. But if he does it will go hard
with Beatrice Trevor. Suspicion already points to her.”
“Oh! no, no!” cried Peggy, in horror, and she looked appealingly at
Dick.
“I’m afraid so,” he said, sorrowfully, answering her unspoken thought.
“You see, it’s very obvious that she has some secret to conceal.”
Peggy actually jumped as her mind flew to the box which was at that
moment safely hidden in the secret drawer of her bureau. Beatrice
guilty--never--never--she put the thought from her, but it would return.
“You mustn’t say such things,” she said, angry with herself for her
disloyal thoughts, and her face paled perceptibly.
“I am sorry I spoke in that way,” replied Dick. “I had forgotten for
the moment that she is your greatest friend. Indeed, Peggy, I meant no
offense. You know I would do anything for you, anything.”
“So would we all, Miss Peggy,” exclaimed Tom, and de Morny, but half
understanding the rapidly spoken English, nodded his head back and
forth like a china mandarin.
“Then,” said Peggy, “find the real murderer of Mrs. Trevor. That,”
loyally, “would clear my friends from suspicion. And I will give
you”--unconsciously her eyes sought Dick’s and the look in them made
his heart throb with hope; then she glanced quickly at Count de Morny,
and his heart sank with sickening dread--“unto the half of my kingdom.”
“I accept the challenge,” he said, gravely, and he raised her hand to
his lips; while Tom, in a few sentences, explained the wager to the two
foreigners.
“To find ze murderer? But ze police have done zat, Mademoiselle,” de
Morny ejaculated.
“No, no; they have only arrested a man on suspicion. Miss Peggy thinks
the murderer is still at large.”
“As Mademoiselle sinks, so sinks I,” answered the Count gallantly.
“It appears to me that the police acted with great discretion,” said de
Smirnoff, who had been an interested listener. “But they do not make
the most of their opportunities.”
“In what way, Count?” asked Dick.
“In regard to the burglar, Monsieur. Since my arrival here I have read
with deep interest all the newspaper accounts of the tragedy. Frankly,
I had not expected to find such a _cause celebre_ in the Capital of
this great country. It occurs to me that the burglar has not told all
he knows.”
“Since telling his story at the inquest he refuses to talk.”
De Smirnoff shrugged his shoulders. “In my country he would be made to
talk. The secret police of Russia, Monsieur, can extract information
from the most unwilling of witnesses.”
“You really think Nelson is keeping something back?” asked Tom,
incredulously. “Why, the poor devil is only too anxious to clear
himself. Surely, if he knew he would not hesitate to tell the whole
truth?”
“It is difficult to say, Monsieur. He may have been bribed to hold his
tongue; money can do much these days. Again, fear of the murderer may
force him to silence.”
“That’s true, too; yet fear of the gallows would make most people talk.”
“Ah, but he does not stand in very much danger there, for has not
another man already been arrested, charged with the crime? No, no,
depend upon it, he is holding something back.”
“What, for instance?” inquired Dick, eagerly.
“The weapon,” suggested de Smirnoff. “It is quite within the possible
that he found it. According to his testimony, he was the first to find
the body. Now, he may be keeping back this information so as to be able
to blackmail the murderer when his sentence for house-breaking is over.
Apparently, he is a clever crook, and undoubtedly knows how best to
look after his own interests.”