A STARTLING ENCOUNTER
Ted Rodgers ran down the three steps leading to the _porte-coch�re_ of
"Hideaway," and opened the door of his car.
"Wouldn't you like to drive?" he asked, turning to Kitty standing in
the doorway with Charles Craige. Kitty's hesitation was brief.
"Indeed I would!" she exclaimed. "I feel all keyed up--"
Craige smiled indulgently. "Get as much pleasure as you can," he
advised. "You deserve the good things of life, Kitty. Now, put your
aunt's tragic death out of your mind--for to-night, at least,"
observing her sober expression. "I will see you to-morrow and we will
make a further search among your aunt's belongings for the papers
wanted so mysteriously. Rodgers, take good care of her," and he waved
his hand in farewell as Kitty started the car down the driveway.
Craige's picturesque cottage, "Hideaway," concealed from its neighbors
by tall box hedges, was located on a street near Chevy Chase Circle,
and, as their car made the turn around it, Rodgers bent closer to Kitty.
"Let's run through Rock Creek Park," he coaxed. "It isn't very much
further, and--" his voice grew very tender. "I want so to talk to you
all by yourself."
Kitty wavered a moment in doubt. She had promised Mandy to return
within the hour--but she had already stayed more than an hour at her
godfather's home. Probably Mandy had long since gone to bed. Rodgers'
hand on her's settled her hesitation as, with tender clasp, he turned
the steering wheel toward the road leading into the park.
The heavy wind of the early evening had died down and as they sped
down the moonlit road Kitty's cup of happiness seemed filled to the
brim. They drove in silence--the silence of perfect companionship and
understanding--each content with the other's presence and their thought
of one another.
"Stop here a moment; the view over the Park is wonderful." Rodgers
leaned forward and pushed up the windshield to the farthest limit. "You
can see better now." But when Kitty slowed down at the side of the road
she found him regarding her and not the moonlight on the rolling hills
and valley before them.
"You meant it, Kitty; you _do_ care for me?" he asked wistfully.
"Really care?"
Kitty's soft laugh held happiness behind it. "I care so much--" her
voice dropped to a mere whisper and he had to lean still closer to
catch what she said. "My love is yours, always--always."
Rodgers held her in close embrace. "My beloved," he murmured and he
kissed her with a fervor which left her breathless.
"Ted," she said, a little later. "Aunt Susan's love letter haunts me.
It told a pitiful story."
He nodded soberly. "Perhaps that is what warped her nature," he
suggested. "James Leigh Wallace was an out-and-out scoundrel. He
gambled his soul away--anything to gain money to lose in some gambling
hell."
"I never heard of him before," she replied. "Now I understand Aunt
Susan's antipathy to his son. I thought it unreasoning dislike.
Leigh--" she hesitated.
"I've been so jealous of Leigh," Rodgers confessed. "Every one thought
you were engaged."
"People are such idiots!" she ejaculated, then added almost in a
whisper, "It was always you, dear, never Leigh, that I cared for. He
was with me because--because Nina Potter and I were together."
A low whistle escaped Rodgers. "By jove!" he exclaimed. "I did hear
some time ago that Leigh was attentive to a Miss Underwood--it never
dawned on me that she was the one who married Ben Potter."
"Did you know Leigh very well in San Francisco?" asked Kitty.
"Pretty well, before he entered the army--civilian appointment, you
know," he added. "I used to see him frequently at Mrs. Parsons' home
in San Francisco. By the way, Ben was a great friend of hers in those
days."
"Who, Mrs. Parsons--?" quickly.
"Yes--some people thought she might marry him."
Kitty smiled. "The idea is droll," she commented. "Ben has chosen a
much more suitable wife. I cannot imagine Mrs. Parsons and Ben in love
with each other; they are such opposite natures. But, dear," turning
troubled eyes toward him, "you say Mrs. Parsons and Leigh were good
friends--there's something I must tell you. Just vague suspicions," she
hesitated. "I cannot bear to be disloyal--to harbor suspicions against
a man I have called my friend, but--" she took from her pocket a piece
of mauve-colored paper--"I lunched with Leigh to-day at the Shoreham
and our waiter slipped this paper into his hand. Leigh carelessly
dropped it on my doorstep, and not realizing what I was doing, I read
it."
Rodgers took the paper and, holding it under the dash-light, peered at
the writing. "Leigh, you are watched," he read the words aloud and then
reversed the paper.
"There is nothing else on it," Kitty explained. "But the message is in
Mrs. Parsons' handwriting."
In the darkness Kitty failed to see Rodgers' odd expression. After
waiting vainly for some comment, she added, "Do you suppose that Mrs.
Parsons suspects Leigh is in some way responsible for Aunt Susan's
death?"
"That might be inferred." Rodgers folded the paper and placed it
carefully in his leather wallet. "With your permission, I'll keep this."
"Certainly, Ted." Kitty put her foot on the self-starter. "I am only
too thankful to give it to you and to have you, dear, to confide in."
He returned her warm handclasp with a grip that hurt. "But, Ted, how is
it that Mrs. Parsons knows that the police are watching Leigh?"
"The police?" echoed Rodgers. "Oh, ah, yes. Perhaps she has had
another call from Inspector Mitchell; I saw him coming away from there
yesterday."
"But why in the world should he confide in Mrs. Parsons?"
"I don't know--" Rodgers was frowning in the darkness, and Kitty,
intent on starting the car, did not notice the alteration in his voice.
"I don't know why any one puts trust in Mrs. Parsons."
"Why, Ted!" Kitty looked at him in surprise. "I never knew you disliked
Mrs. Parsons."
"I have no use for her," he admitted. "I never did like cats--even your
Mouchette."
"Imagine putting Mrs. Parsons in a class with Mouchette," Kitty
chuckled, then grew grave. "Ted, you don't suppose, really suppose,
that Leigh could have killed Aunt Susan, a defenceless old lady."
"With a serpent's tongue." The words were no sooner spoken than Rodgers
regretted them. "Forgive me, darling--"
"I know poor Aunt Susan was not loved--." A sigh escaped Kitty. "Can it
be that Aunt Susan quarreled with Leigh over his father's treatment of
her--"
"It might be," Rodgers' tone was grave. "But so far we do not even know
that Leigh was at your house on Sunday afternoon. Don't brood over
the tragedy, Kitty: forget it, for to-night, at least. Here's a clear
stretch of road ahead--step on the gas."
Instinctively, Kitty followed his suggestion and the car shot ahead.
The wind fanned their cheeks through the opened windshield, and Kitty
was conscious of a feeling of exhilaration as they tore onward,
gathering speed with each throb of the powerful engine. In the distance
Kitty descried a car approaching and dimmed her headlights. The
courtesy was not returned; instead a spotlight swung directly on them
and Kitty, blinded by the glare, swerved to the right as the oncoming
car swept up. She heard a deafening report, something swished by her,
and the car raced up the road they had just traversed.
Checking the speed of her own car, Kitty swung it back into the center
of the road and turned, white-lipped, to Rodgers.
"How dare they drive like that!" she gasped. "They must be drunk or
cra--" Her voice failed her at sight of Rodgers sitting huddled back in
the car--there was something unnatural in his pose which chilled the
blood in her veins. "Ted!"
Her call met with no response.
Slowly she put out her hand and touched his shoulder; then her hand
crept upward to his face and forehead. What she touched felt moist
and sticky. She jerked her hand downward so that the light from the
dash-lamp fell upon it. It was covered with blood.
There was a sound of a thousand Niagaras roaring in her ears as she
brought the roadster to a standstill and turned to Rodgers. Bending
down she pressed her ear over his heart--its feeble beat reassured
her--he was still alive.
Kitty searched frantically for her handkerchief and for his. Tying
them together she bound his wound as best she could; then with
compressed lips and in breathless haste she started the car headlong
for Washington. As they tore madly down the road, one question only
throbbed through her aching head:
Who had shot her lover?