In the Onyx Lobby Part 21

And then, stepping from the door of the elevator, came Dorcas Everett, and Richard Bates lost all desire to hear further evidence from the questioned girls.

With a brief but determined apology, he left the alcove, where they had been talking, and hurried to Dorcas' side.

"Have you heard?" he said, as he fell into step and walked with her toward the door.

"Yes; I can't talk here,--I can't breathe! Can we go for a walk?"

"Of course, why not?"

"I thought you were busy with those--people."

"Perhaps they think so, too, but I don't care! Come on; hasten your steps just a little and don't look back."

Apparently carelessly, but really with a feeling of stealth, the pair made their way to the street, Bates feeling guiltily conscious of the detectives' disapproval, and Dorcas afraid of her action being reported to her mother.

"I've been waiting so to see you," she exclaimed, as soon as they were at a safe distance from The Campanile. "Do tell me all about it! My mother has gone to call on your aunt,--and I thought I'd come down and see if I could run across you. Mother'll be there some time, I've no doubt, and I took a chance."

"Bless you! But, tell me, how did your mother hear? What do you know? I mean, what's the general report?"

"Nothing definite, but all sorts of rumors,--which mother tried to keep from me. But she and Kate were talking, and I found out that the chambermaid told them that woman had killed Sir Herbert. Mother told me he had died suddenly, but she didn't know I overheard about the murder."

"Yes; it's true. He was murdered and he left a dying statement that women did it. It's a horrible affair, and I wish you needn't know the details. Can't you go away or something till it is all past history?"

"Oh, I don't want to. I'm no child to be put to bed like that! But Mother has been urging me to go away,--and yesterday she said she's going to move anyway. If she should send me to Auntie Fayre's--but she won't----"

"If she should, what?" cried Richard, eagerly; "Do you mean that in that case, we might meet now and then?"

"Yes, that's what I meant,--but, we couldn't if this matter is public property, and I suppose it is, or will be?"

"Yes, of course; but it can't last long. You see, dear, there's bound to be an awful disclosure of some sort. Women don't kill a man without some big reason,--at least big to them."

"But who did it? What women?"

"We don't know. The probabilities are that it was some girls he had flirted with. Oh, Dork, don't ask questions; it's a disgraceful affair, I fear. I don't know,--if a man had done it, I should think it merely the result of Uncle's wild temper. He was awful when in a rage. But the feminine element makes only unpleasant theories possible. And yet, Uncle was a gentleman and a decent one. I believe it was the work of some women who had a fancied grievance and who were jealous or revengeful for some foolish reason. But, of course, there's no telling what evidence will turn up. And I must be prepared for embarra.s.sing disclosures."

"You're the heir, aren't you, Rick?"

"So far as I know. Uncle made me that, but he may have changed his mind.

His lawyers have his will, and I've made no inquiries as yet. You see, Dork, there's so much to see to. Why, I've got to take care of Aunt Letty and Eliza,--I mean, s.h.i.+eld them from publicity and reporters and all that. I've no business to sneak off here with you, but I couldn't help it!"

"But tell me this; what women are suspected? What ones are possible suspects?"

"Some chorus girls and the house girls, so far."

"House girls? You mean the elevator girls----"

"Yes, and telephone operators and perhaps chambermaids,--oh, Dorrie, Uncle Bin was the sort of a man who is jolly with any woman. I'm willing to bet there was never a really wrong idea in his head, but he was so carelessly gay and chummy with them all, that a vicious or wicked woman could play the devil with him!"

"Poor Sir Herbert,--I rather liked him."

"He liked you,--he said so. And he was in favor of our marriage, which is more than we can say for any of our nearer relatives."

"Yes, indeed! Mother gets more and more wrathy about Miss Letty every day of her life,--and I expect this matter will just about finish her!"

"I suppose so. Now, we must get back, for my reasons and your own good.

When can I see you again?"

"Oh, I don't know. It all depends on the outcome of the present meeting of the two. If your aunt seems to want sympathy or help I daresay Mother would feel kindly toward her in this trouble. But if Miss Letty is uppish and reserved,--as I fear she will be,--then Mother will go for her! I'm only imagining all this; I've no idea what will really happen."

Poor little Dorcas, it was well for her present peace of mind that she hadn't!

The two walked slowly back to The Campanile, almost forgetting the tragedy that had come so close to them, in the content of being together.

Corson met them at the door.

"Been looking for you," he said to Bates. "And, Miss Everett, your mother is inquiring where you are. She left word for you to go to her the moment you appeared."

"Yes," Dorcas returned, and then, shyly, "Please don't say I was with Mr Bates, will you?"

Corson looked at her, with interest. Pretty Dorcas, her shy, brown eyes falling at the idea of asking for secrecy, but her judgment, already trained in diplomacy, telling her it was necessary.

"I won't," and Corson smiled at her, "if, you'll answer a question or two. Where were you last night at two o'clock?"

"In bed and asleep," said the girl simply.

"Thank goodness you don't refuse to tell! And at what time did you retire?"

"About eleven."

"And where had you spent the evening?"

"Oh, I say, Corson," and Bates interrupted, "that's in the cla.s.s with your grilling of me. You know Miss Everett isn't implicated, you know you're asking her that because you've got the habit. Run along, Dorcas, you don't have to be quizzed any more."

Dorcas turned quickly, and just managed to catch an up-bound elevator as its door was about to close.

"Now, you let her alone, Corson," said Bates, sharply. "I don't mind telling you she's the girl I intend to marry, but we're not really engaged. That is, it isn't announced. And I ask you, as man to man, to say nothing of it, to say nothing to her, and to keep her out of it all you can. Lord knows, you've no reason to think of her in connection with the horrible affair!"

"No; except as she's interested in you, and you're the heir."

"Forget it. Who told you I was the heir?"

"Everybody knows it,--it's in all the papers."

"I haven't looked at a paper! Lord, I don't think I can!"

"Better not; they're not pretty reading."

"What do you mean? Any aspersions against my uncle's character?"