Part 15 (1/2)

”What other direction can there be?” Lady Mary asked dismally.

Peter Ruff said nothing. He was too kind-hearted to kindle false hopes.

”It's a hopeless case, of course,” Miss Brown remarked, after Lady Mary had departed.

”I'm afraid so,” Peter Ruff answered. ”Still I must earn my money.

Please get some one to take you to supper to-night at the Milan, and see if you can pick up any scandal.”

”About Letty?” she asked.

”About either of them,” he answered. ”Particularly I should like to know if any explanation has cropped up of her supping alone with Austen Abbott.”

”I don't see why you can't take me yourself,” she remarked. ”You are on the side of the law this time, at any rate.”

”I will,” he answered, after a moment's hesitation. ”I will call for you at eleven o'clock to-night.”

He rose and closed his desk emphatically.

”You are going out?” she asked.

”I am going to see Miss Letty Shaw,” he answered.

He took a taxicab to the flats, and found a handful of curious people still gazing up at the third floor. The parlourmaid who answered his summons was absolutely certain that Miss Shaw would not see him. He persuaded her, after some difficulty, to take in his letter while he waited in the hall. When she returned, she showed him into a small sitting room and pulled down the blinds.

”Miss Shaw will see you, sir, for a few minutes,” she announced, in a subdued tone. ”Poor dear young lady,” she continued, ”she has been crying her eyes out all the morning.”

”No wonder,” Peter Ruff said, sympathetically. ”It's a terrible business, this!”

”One of the nicest young men as ever walked,” the girl declared, firmly.

”As for that brute, he deserved all he's got, and more!”

Peter Ruff was left alone for nearly a quarter of an hour. Then the door was softly opened and Letty Shaw entered. There was no doubt whatever about her suffering. Ruff, who had seen her only lately at the theatre, was shocked. Under her eyes were blacker lines than her pencil had ever traced. Not only was she ghastly pale, but her face seemed wan and shrunken. She spoke to him the moment she entered, leaning with on hand upon the sideboard.

”Lady Mary writes that you want to help us,” she said. ”How can you? How is it possible?”

Even her voice had gone. She spoke hoa.r.s.ely, and as though short of breath. Her eyes searched his face feverishly. It seemed cruelty not to answer her at once, and Peter Ruff was not a cruel man. Nevertheless, he remained silent, and it seemed to her that his eyes were like points of fire upon her face.

”What is the matter?” she cried, with breaking voice. ”What have you come for? Why don't you speak to me?”

”Madam,” Peter Ruff said, ”I should like to help you, and I will do what I can. But in order that I may do so, it is necessary that you should answer me two questions--truthfully!”

Her eyes grew wider. It was the face of a terrified child.

”Why not?” she exclaimed. ”What have I to conceal?”

Peter Ruff's expression never changed. There was nothing about him, as he stood there with his hands behind him, his head thrown a little forward, in the least inspiring--nothing calculated to terrify the most timid person. Yet the girl looked at him with the eyes of a frightened bird.

”Remember, then,” he continued, smoothly, ”that what you say to me is sacred. You and I are alone without witnesses or eavesdroppers. Was it Brian Sotherst who shot Abbott--or was it you?”