Part 45 (2/2)
”That is quite true, Madame. I mean that I rode out of my way. But the reason of it is that I came over the road for the first time; there were no sign-boards up, and my directions had not been explicit enough to prevent me losing my way. That is my only excuse for not being here earlier. I am not landsman enough to make my way through the country roads and timber.”
”You perceive, Colonel McVeigh, the man is in my employ, and has come here by my orders,” said Judithe, with a certain impatience at the density of the accuser.
”That should be credential enough,” and McVeigh's tone held a distinct reprimand as he frowned at Masterson's senseless accusation, but that officer made a gesture of protest. He was being beaten, but he did not mean to give up without a hard fight.
”Colonel, there were special reasons for doubt in the matter. Madame Caron, apparently, does not know even the man's name. I asked him to write it--here it is,” and he handed McVeigh the paper. ”I asked her to name him--she refused!”
”Yes; I resented the manner and reason for the question,” a.s.sented Judithe; ”but the man has been the master of my yacht for over a year, and his name is Pierson--John T. Pierson.”
”Correct,” and McVeigh glanced at the paper on which the name was written. ”Will you also write the name of Madame Caron's yacht, Mr.
Pierson?” and he handed him a book and pencil. ”Pardon me,” and he smiled rea.s.suringly at Judithe, ”this is not the request of suspicion, but faith.” He took the book from Pierson and glanced at the open page and then at her--”the name of your yacht is?--”
”_The Marquise_,” she replied, with a little note of surprise in her voice, as she smiled at Evilena, who had slipped to her side, and understood the smile. Evilena and she had made plans for a season of holidays on that same yacht, as soon as the repairs were made. Colonel McVeigh tossed the book indignantly on the table.
”Thank you, Madame! Captain Masterson, this is the most outrageous thing I ever knew an officer to be guilty of! You have presumed to suspect a lady in my house--the guest of your superior officer, and you shall answer to me for it! Mr. Pierson, you are no longer under suspicion here, sir. And you,” he added, turning to the Confederate secret agent, ”can report at once to your chief that spies are not needed on the McVeigh plantation.”
”Colonel McVeigh, if you had seen what I saw--”
”Madame Caron's word would have been sufficient,” interrupted McVeigh, without looking at him. And Judithe held out the letter.
”I am quite willing you should see what he saw,” she said, with a curious smile. ”He saw me, after the arrival of Mr. Pierson, seal an envelope leaving him in ignorance of its contents. The seal is yet unbroken--will you read it?”
”You do not suppose I require proof of your innocence?” he asked, refusing the letter, and looking at her fondly as he dare in the presence of the others.
”But I owe it to myself to offer the proof now,” she insisted, ”and at the same time I shall ask Mr. Pierson to offer himself for personal search if Captain Masterson yet retains suspicion of his honesty;” she glanced towards Pierson, who smiled slightly, and bowed without speaking. Then she turned to Delaven, who had been a surprised onlooker of the scene.
”Dr. Delaven, in the cause of justice, may I ask you to examine the contents of this letter?” and she tore open the envelope and offered it.
”Anything in the wide world to serve you, Madame la Marquise,” he answered, with a shade more than usual of deference in his manner, as he took it. ”Are the contents to be considered professionally, that is, confidentially?”
She had taken Evilena by the hand, bowed slightly to the group, and had moved to the door, when he spoke. Monroe, who had watched every movement as he stood there in a fever of suspense for her sake, drew a breath of relief as she replied:
”Oh, no! Be kind enough to read it aloud, or Captain Masterson may include you in the dangerous intrigues here,” and, smiling still, she pa.s.sed out with Evilena to the lawn.
But a few seconds elapsed, when a perfect shout of laughter came from the library. The special detective did not share in it, for he thrust his hands into his pockets with a curse, and Masterson turned to him with a frowning, baffled stare--an absolutely crestfallen manner, as he listened to the following, read in Delaven's best style:
”To Madame Smith, ”Mobile, Ala.:
”The pink morning gown is perfect, but I am in despair over the night robes! I meant you to use the lace, not the embroidery, on them; pray change them at once, and send at the same time the flounced lawn petticoats if completed. I await reply.
”Judithe de Caron.”
CHAPTER XXV.
”Certainly, I apologize,” and Masterson looked utterly crushed by his mistaken zeal; ”apologize to every one concerned, collectively and individually.”
<script>