Part 20 (1/2)

”Then I'm in luck, and I think Lydia is, too--poor old girl!... You see, Dundee,” Miles began to explain, as he took off his new straw hat to mop his perspiring forehead, ”the crowd all ganged up when our various cars reached Sheridan Road, and by unanimous vote we elected to drive over to the Country Club for a meal in one of the small private dining rooms--to escape the questions of the morbidly curious, you know--”

”Yes.... What about it?” Dundee interrupted impatiently.

”Well, I admit we were all pretty hungry, in spite of--well, of course we were all fond of Nita, but--”

”What about Lydia?” Dundee cut him short.

”I'm getting to it, old boy,” Miles protested, with the injured air of an unappreciated small boy. ”While we were waiting for our food, somebody said, 'Poor Lydia! What's going to become of _her_?' And somebody else said that it was harder on her--Nita's death, I mean--than on anybody else, because Nita was all she had in the world, and then Lois--Lois is always practical, you know--ran to telephone Police Headquarters, to see what had been done with Lydia, and to see if it would be all right for Flora and me to take her home with us--”

”Just a minute, Miles! Whom did Mrs. Dunlap talk to at Headquarters?”

”Why, Captain Strawn, of course,” Miles answered. ”He told Lois that you were still out here, questioning Lydia again, and that it was all right with him, whatever you decided. So as soon as I had finished eating, I drove over--”

”Is Mrs. Miles with you?” Dundee interrupted again.

”Well, no,” Miles admitted uncomfortably. ”You see, the girls felt a little squeamish about coming back, even on an errand of mercy--”

Dundee grinned. He had no doubt that Flora Miles had emphatically refused the possibility of another gruelling interview.

”Why do you and Mrs. Miles want to take Lydia home with you?” he asked.

”To give her a home and a job,” Miles answered promptly. ”She knows us, we're used to her poor old scarred face, and the youngsters, Tam and Betty, are not a bit afraid of her. In fact, Betty pats that scarred cheek and says, over and over, 'Poo Lyddy! Poo Lyddy! Betty 'oves Lyddy!' and Tam--he's T. A. Miles, junior, you know, and we call him Tam, from the initials, because he hates being called Junior and two Tracey's are a nuisance--”

”I gather that you want to hire Lydia as a nurse for the children,”

Dundee interrupted the fond father's verbose explanations.

”Right, old man! You see, our nurse left us yesterday--”

”Wait here, Miles. I'll speak to Lydia. She's in Mrs. Selim's bedroom.... By the way, Miles, since you and your wife are kind enough to want to take Lydia in and give her a home and a job, I think it only fair to tell you that it is highly improbable that Lydia Carr will take any job at all.”

”You mean--?” Miles gasped, his ruddy face turning pale. ”I say, Dundee, it's absurd to think for a minute that good old faithful Lydia had a thing to do with Nita's murder--”

”I rather think you're right about that, Miles,” Dundee interrupted.

”Now will you excuse me?”

He found Lydia where he had left her--in her dead mistress' bedroom. The tall, gaunt woman was crouching beside the chaise longue, her arms outstretched to encircle a little pile of the gifts she claimed to have given Nita Selim to prove that she bore no grudge for the terrible injury her mistress had done her. At Dundee's entrance she flung up her head, and the detective saw that tears were streaming from both the sightless eye and the unharmed one.

Taking his seat on the chaise longue, Dundee explained gently but briefly the offer which Tracey Miles had just made.

”They want--_me_?” she gasped brokenly, incredulously, and her fingers faltered to her horrible cheek. ”I didn't think anybody but my poor girl would have me around--”

”It is true they want you,” Dundee a.s.sured her. ”But you don't have to take a job now unless you wish, Lydia.”

”What do you mean?” the maid demanded harshly, her good eye hardening with suspicion.

”Lydia,” the young detective began slowly, and almost praying that he was doing the right thing, ”when I woke you up tonight to question you, I said that Nita herself had just told me that it was she who had burned your face.... And you asked me if she had also given you a message--”

”Yes, sir!” the maid interrupted with pitiful eagerness. ”And you'll tell me now? You don't still think _I_ killed her, do you?”

”No, I don't think you killed your mistress, Lydia, but I think, if you would, you could help me find out who did,” Dundee a.s.sured her gravely.