SUSPICION
It was not often that Charles Craige was late in keeping an appointment
with Mrs. Parsons. But the pretty widow had occasion to glance
repeatedly at her parlor clock with ever increasing annoyance before
she heard the butler ushering some one upstairs. She masked her
displeasure under a smiling face.
"Ah, Charles, what has detained you?" she asked, as he bent low over
her hand and kissed it.
"Pressing business," he answered. "I am deeply sorry to be late,
Cecelia. Judge McMasters simply would not hurry. Has Ben Potter been
here?"
"Not to-day." Mrs. Parsons' surprise at the question was manifest.
"You know he is not one of my favorites. He bored me to death in San
Francisco; he is so intense--" she shrugged her shoulders. "I saw his
wife this morning."
"Indeed?" Craige selected a cigarette from the box on the table and
accepted a lighted match.
"Silly sentimental little fool," commented Mrs. Parsons. "Just the kind
of wife Ben could have been counted on to pick out."
"Men usually marry to please themselves." Craige laughed. "Ben
telephoned me an hour ago and said that he was coming around to see
you--"
"What about?"
"He did not state." Craige looked at her in surprise, abruptness was
not usual with her. "He may come at any moment--" glancing at his
watch. It lacked five minutes of the hour. "I stopped at the bank this
morning and President Walsh said he would accept your note for two
thousand dollars provided you have collateral--"
"Certainly." Mrs. Parsons colored deeply. "In fact, I am not sure that
I shall need the loan from the bank. I was only temporarily embarrassed
until my property in San Francisco is sold. To-day," she paused,
"I have arranged another matter satisfactorily. It is kind of you,
Charles, very kind, to handle my business for me."
"My dearest Cecelia--" Craige laid his hand on hers. "I am happiest
when I serve you."
Her eyes sparkled with a hint of tears. "I am grateful," she murmured.
"You have been so good, so very good since I came to Washington."
"Cecelia!" Craige bent forward impulsively, but she drew away from his
embrace.
"Not now, dear," she protested. "You know you promised--"
Craige's handsome face, alight with eagerness, altered. "I will keep my
word--" he said. "One month, Cecelia, and then the whole world is to
know of my happiness--"
"Our happiness--" she corrected softly. Craige caught her hands and
pressed the palms against his face before kissing them with lingering
tenderness.
"_A la bonne heure!_" he exclaimed, and his voice betrayed his
happiness. "Cecelia, you grow prettier every day."
"My mirror is not so kind as you, Charles!" A sigh accompanied the
words, and she swiftly changed the subject. "Have you seen Kitty Baird
to-day?"
"I am on my way there now." A worried look crossed his face. "That poor
girl seems fated for tragedy. You heard of the attempt to kill Ted
Rodgers last night in the Park, did you not?"
"I understood that it was an accident." Horror crept into Mrs. Parsons'
eyes. "How dreadful!"
"Kitty declares that the headlights of the car blinded her, and that
she has no idea of the identity of the person who did the shooting. She
says that she could not even tell whether it was a man or a woman."
Craige, sitting facing the light from the western window, failed to
detect the faint alteration in Mrs. Parsons' expression.
"How is Ted Rodgers?" she asked. "Out of danger?"
"I haven't heard; which reminds me that I am to meet Dr. McLean at
'Rose Hill' at three o'clock." Craige rose. "I sincerely hope that Ted
recovers--it will kill Kitty if anything happens to him."
Mrs. Parsons held out her hands and Craige helped her slowly to her
feet. "So Ted really has cut out Leigh Wallace in Kitty's affections,"
she remarked.
Craige frowned. "It was nothing more than a flirtation between Kitty
and Wallace," he declared. "Her whole heart is centered on Ted."
"You speak with positiveness--" Mrs. Parsons' laugh held a touch of
malice. "Remember, women are fickle--and Leigh very attractive."
"I fail to understand the fascination he apparently has for women."
Craige's tone was stiff. A mischievous smile touched Mrs. Parsons' lips
and her eyes danced.
"Leigh was very, very smitten with Kitty," she asserted, as she paused
before the long gilt mirror and adjusted her lorgnette chain. "Do you
suppose it could have been Leigh who tried to kill Ted last night?"
Craige stood just behind her and looking in the mirror she saw his face
reflected over her shoulder. His expression of surprise gave place to
doubt--to wonder--
"By Jove!" he exclaimed. "No, it can't be, Cecelia. Leigh, whatever his
faults, is the type of man who fights in the open."
"Jealousy changes a man's nature sometimes," she murmured. "Leigh has
not been himself since his return from France."
"You knew him before, then?"
Mrs. Parsons nodded. "Very slightly. It was Nina Potter who commented
upon the change in him; he was an old sweetheart of hers."
Craige paused. "Upon my word, Cecelia," he ejaculated. "How do you
learn so much about people?"
She laughed aloud in her amusement. "I am observant. I find--" and the
lines about her mouth hardened--"it pays to be. Will you dine with me
to-morrow night, Charles?"
"Surely," with eager haste. "And will you go to the theater afterward?"
"Perhaps." She laid her hand for the fraction of a second against his
cheek with a caressing motion. "Careful, dear, James is waiting to
open the door for you--" and Craige perforce contented himself with a
formal handshake as the servant came forward to the foot of the short
flight of steps with his overcoat and hat.
Craige was about to step into his motor when he became aware that the
butler was at his elbow.
"Can I have a word with you, sir?" he asked, and a jerk of his thumb
indicated Craige's chauffeur. "In private, sir."
"Certainly, James." Mystified by the butler's air of secretiveness
Craige followed him a few steps down the street. When convinced that
the chauffeur could not overhear them, James halted. But they were
not destined to have their interview in private, for as Craige stood
waiting for James to explain what he wished Inspector Mitchell stopped
beside them.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Craige," he said, as he nodded a greeting to the
butler. "Glad to see you, sir. Now, James, why did you send for me?"
James rubbed his hands together and cast an appealing look at Craige.
"I had to," he began, addressing his remarks to him rather than to
Mitchell. "My conscience couldn't rest easy, sir, after I read the
newspapers about the inquest."
"The inquest?" Mitchell's eyes snapped with excitement. "Go on,
man--you mean the Baird inquest?"
"Yes. Mr. Craige, sir, the newspapers said that Miss Baird was killed
by poison put on a peach," he spoke in nervous haste and Craige had
some difficulty in catching what he said. "Nobody seemed to know where
the peaches came from 'cording to the papers."
"No more we did," prompted Mitchell. "Well, what then?"
James licked his lips with the tip of his tongue. "Miss Kitty Baird
goes to the market sometimes for Mrs. Parsons, sir. On Saturday she
brought back some California peaches," his voice sank even lower. "She
called here Sunday morning, and when she left, the peaches wasn't on
the dining room table."
Craige stared the butler out of countenance. "Preposterous!" he
exclaimed, turning red with indignation. "What are you suggesting,
James?"
"Nothing, sir, Mr. Craige. I'm just telling you about the peaches."
Craige's face was a study of wrath and bewilderment; the former
predominating. With an effort, he checked an oath and instead drew out
some loose silver.
"I am glad you spoke only to us, James," he said. "Come with me,
Mitchell," and paying no attention to the inspector's protests that he
wished further word with the butler, he hurried him toward his car.
So occupied were both men that neither caught James' furtive glance at
the parlor window as he turned to re�nter Mrs. Parsons' house.