Part 18 (1/2)

”Oh, please don't interview her! I'm sure she wouldn't want to talk with you.”

”Very well, then ask her to vacate the room, and I will go there with you now.”

Mrs. Pierce went away, and I began to wonder if I had gone too far or had overstepped my authority. But it was surely my duty to learn all I could about Florence Lloyd, and what so promising of suggestions as her own room?

Mrs. Pierce returned in a few moments, and affably enough she asked me to accompany her to Miss Lloyd's room.

I did so, and after entering devoted my whole attention to the bunch of yellow roses, which in a gla.s.s vase stood on the window seat. Although somewhat wilted, they were still beautiful, and without the slightest doubt were the kind of rose from which the two tell-tale petals had fallen.

Acting upon a sudden thought, I counted them. There were nine, each one seemingly with its full complement of petals, though of this I could not be perfectly certain.

”Now, Mrs.--Pierce,” I said, turning to her with an air of authority which was becoming difficult to maintain, ”where are the roses which Miss Lloyd admits having pinned to her gown?”

”Mercy! I don't know,” exclaimed Mrs. Pierce, looking bewildered. ”I suppose she threw them away.”

”I suppose she did,” I returned; ”would she not be likely to throw them in the waste basket?”

”She might,” returned Mrs. Pierce, turning toward an ornate affair of wicker-work and pink ribbons.

Sure enough, in the basket, among a few sc.r.a.ps of paper, were two exceedingly withered yellow roses. I picked them out and examined them, but in their present state it was impossible to tell whether they had lost any petals or not, so I threw them back in the basket.

Mrs. Pierce seemed to care nothing for evidence or deduction in the matter, but began to lament the carelessness of the chambermaid who had not emptied the waste basket the day before.

But I secretly blessed the delinquent servant, and began pondering on this new development of the rose question. The nine roses in the vase and the two in the basket made but eleven, and the florist had told me that he had sent a dozen. Where was the twelfth?

The thought occurred to me that Miss Lloyd might have put away one as a sentimental souvenir, but to my mind she did not seem the kind of a girl to do that. I knew my reasoning was absurd, for what man can predicate what a woman will do? but at the same time I could not seem to imagine the statuesque, imperial Miss Lloyd tenderly preserving a rose that her lover had given her.

But might not Gregory Hall have taken one of the dozen for himself before sending the rest? This was merely surmise, but it was a possibility, and at any rate the twelfth rose was not in Miss Lloyd's room.

Therefore the twelfth rose was a factor to be reckoned with, a bit of evidence to be found; and I determined to find it.

I asked Mrs. Pierce to arrange for me an interview with Miss Lloyd, but the elder lady seemed doubtful.

”I'm quite sure she won't see you,” she said, ”for she has declared she will see no one until after the funeral. But if you want me to ask her anything for you, I will do so.”

”Very well,” I said, surprised at her willingness; ”please ask Miss Lloyd if she knows what became of the twelfth yellow rose; and beg her to appreciate the fact that it is a vital point in the case.”

Mrs. Pierce agreed to do this, and as I went down the stairs she promised to join me in the library a few moments later.

She kept her promise, and I waited eagerly her report.

”Miss Lloyd bids me tell you,” she said, ”that she knows nothing of what you call the twelfth rose. She did not count the roses, she merely took two of them to pin on her dress, and when she retired, she carelessly threw those two in the waste basket. She thinks it probable there were only eleven in the box when it arrived. But at any rate she knows nothing more of the matter.”

I thanked Mrs. Pierce for her courtesy and patience, and feeling that I now had a real problem to consider, I started back to the inn.

It could not be that this rose matter was of no importance. For the florist had a.s.sured me he had sold exactly twelve flowers to Mr. Gregory Hall, and of these, I could account for only eleven. The twelfth rose must have been separated from the others, either by Mr. Hall, at the time of purchase, or by some one else later. If the petals found on the floor fell from that twelfth rose, and if Florence Lloyd spoke the truth when she declared she knew nothing of it, then she was free from suspicion in that direction.

But until I could make some further effort to find out about the missing rose I concluded to say nothing of it to anybody. I was not bound to tell Parmalee any points I might discover, for though colleagues, we were working independently of each other.

But as I was anxious to gather any side lights possible, I determined to go for a short conference with the district attorney, in whose hands the case had been put after the coroner's inquest.

He was a man named Goodrich, a quiet mannered, untalkative person, and as might be expected he had made little or no progress as yet.