Sigsbee H. Waddington reeled in his tracks. Gallagher! That was the
name. Not Mulcahy. Not Garrity. Not Murphy. Gallagher!
Like many another good man before him, Sigsbee Waddington chafed at the
fat-headed imbecility with which Memory can behave. Why should Memory
have presented to his notice futile Mulcahys and Garritys and Murphys
when what he had been asking for was Gallagher? Wasting his time!
But it was not too late. If he went straight back to New York now
and resumed his quest, all might yet be well. And Fortune had, he
perceived, presented him with the most admirable excuse for going
straight back to New York. In a crisis like this, with a valuable pearl
necklace stolen it was imperative that a cool-headed, clear-thinking
man of the world should take the next train up and place the facts in
the possession of Police Headquarters.
"Good enough!" said Mr. Waddington to his immortal soul; and hobbled
stiffly but light-heartedly to the boudoir.
* * * * *
Voices reached his ears as he opened the door. They ceased as he
entered, and Mrs. Waddington looked up peevishly.
"Where have you been, I should like to know?" she said.
Sigsbee H. was ready for this one.
"I took a long country walk. A very long country walk. I was so
shocked, horrified and surprised by that dreadful scene that the house
seemed to stifle me. So I took a long country walk. I have just got
back. What a very disturbing thing to happen! Ferris says it could
never have occurred at Brangmarley Hall."
Molly, somewhat red about the eyes and distinctly mutinous about the
mouth, spoke for the first time.
"I'm sure there is some explanation."
"Tchah!" said Mrs. Waddington.
"I know there is."
"Then why did not your precious Finch condescend to give it?"
"He was so taken aback."
"I don't wonder."
"I'm sure there was some mistake."
"There was," said Mr. Waddington. He patted his daughter's hand
soothingly. "The whole thing was a put-up job."
"Kindly talk sense, Sigsbee."
"I am talking sense."
"What you call sense, perhaps, but not what anyone outside the walls of
an institution for the feeble-minded would call sense."
"Is zat so?" Mr. Waddington put his thumbs in the armholes of his
waistcoat and felt rather conquering. "Well, let me tell you that that
girl simply pretended to be what she wasn't so as to fool you into
thinking she wasn't what she was."
Mrs. Waddington sighed despairingly.
"Go away, Sigsbee," she said.
"That's all right about Go away, Sigsbee. I'm telling you that that
girl was a crook. She couldn't get in any other way, so she pulled that
discarded stuff. She was after the wedding-presents."
"Then why did she not take them?"
"She did. She took Molly's pearl necklace."
"What!"
"You heard. She took Molly's pearl necklace."
"Nonsense."
"Well, it's gone."
Molly had risen with shining eyes.
"I thought as much. So my dear darling George is innocent after all."
Very few people in this civilised world have ever seen a baffled
tigress, but anybody who could have watched Mrs. Waddington's face at
this moment would have gained a very fair knowledge of how baffled
tigresses look.
"I don't believe it," she said sullenly.
"Well, the necklace has gone, hasn't it," said Sigsbee H. "And you
don't suppose any of the guests took it, do you? Though I wouldn't put
it past that Lord Hunstanton guy. Of course that girl has got it. She
fainted on the wedding-present table, didn't she? She said she wanted
air and rushed out, didn't she? And nobody's seen her since, have they?
If it hadn't been for going for my long country walk, I'd have got on
to this hours ago.
"I'm going straight to New York to see George and tell him," said
Molly, breathing quickly.
"You will do nothing of the kind," said Mrs. Waddington, rising.
"And I'm going to New York to see the police," said Sigsbee.
"You are certainly not! I will go to New York, and I will inform the
police. You and Molly will stay here."
"But listen...."
"I want no further discussion." Mrs. Waddington pressed the bell. "As
for you," she said, turning to Molly, "do you suppose I am going to
allow you to pay nocturnal visits to the apartments of libertines like
George Finch?"
"He is not a libertine."
"Certainly not," said Sigsbee H. "A very fine young fellow. Comes from
Idaho."
"You know perfectly well," Molly went on, "that what father has told us
absolutely clears George. Why, the girl might just as well have come in
and said that father had deserted her."
"Here!" said Mr. Waddington. "Hi!"
"She only wanted an excuse for getting into the house."
"It is possible," said Mrs. Waddington, "that in this particular
instance George Finch is not so blameworthy as I had at first supposed.
But that does not alter the fact that he is a man whom any mother
with her daughter's happiness at heart must regard with the deepest
suspicion. He is an artist. He has deliberately chosen to live in a
quarter of New York which is notorious for its loose-thinking and
Bohemian ways. And...."
The door opened.
"You rang, madam?"
"Yes, Ferris. Tell Bassett to bring the car round immediately. I am
going into New York."
"Very good, madam." The butler coughed. "I wonder, madam, if it is
not taking a liberty, if I might be permitted to ride on the box-seat
beside the chauffeur?"
"Why?"
There are occasions in life when to give one's true reasons for some
particular course of action would be tedious. The actual explanation
of the butler's desire to visit the metropolis was that he wished
to pay a call upon the editor of that bright and widely-read weekly
paper, "Town Gossip," in order to turn an honest penny by informing him
of the sensational scene which had occurred that day in the highest
circles. Almost immediately after the facts of this scandal in high
life had been called to his attention, Ferris had started to telephone
the "Town Gossip" offices in order to establish communication, only
to be informed that the editor was out of town. At his last attempt,
however, a cautious assistant, convinced at length that the butler had
something of real interest up his sleeve and was not disposed to reveal
it to underlings, had recommended him to call upon L. Lancelot Biffen,
the editor-in-chief, at his private address on the ninth floor of the
Sheridan Apartment House, near Washington Square. Mr. Biffen, the
assistant thought, would be back after dinner.
All this the butler could, of course, have revealed to his employer,
but, like all men of intellect, he disliked long explanations.
"I have just received a communication informing me that a near
relative of mine is ill in the city, madam."
"Oh, very well."
"Thank you, madam. I will inform Bassett at once."
"Besides," said Mrs. Waddington, as the door closed, going on where
she had been interrupted, "for all we know, the girl's story may have
been perfectly true, and her theft of the pearls the result of a sudden
temptation on the spur of the moment."
"Mother!"
"Well, why not? I suppose she was in need of money. No doubt your Finch
callously omitted to provide for her in any way."
"You've got it all wrong," said Sigsbee H.
"What do you know about it?" said Mrs. Waddington.
"Nothing," said Sigsbee H., prudently.
"Then kindly refrain from talking nonsense."
Mrs. Waddington left the room with ponderous dignity, and Sigsbee H.,
still prudent, closed the door.
"Say, listen, Molly," he said, "I've got to get up to New York right
away. I've just got to."
"So have I. I certainly mean to see George to-night. I suppose he has
gone back to his apartment."
"What'll we do?"
"Directly the car has gone, I'll run you up in my two-seater."
"'At-a-baby!" said Mr. Waddington fervently. "That's the way to talk."
He kissed his daughter fondly.