Part 61 (2/2)
”I overheard some surprising things over the vocaphone,” he hastened.
”Hazleton called. Why, there must have been some wild orgies in that precious set of theirs, and, would you believe it, many of them seem to have been at what Dr. Maudsley calls his 'stable studio,' a den he has fixed up artistically over his garage on a side street.”
”Indeed?”
”I couldn't get it all, but I did hear her repeating over and over to Hazleton, 'Aren't you all mine? Aren't you all mine?' There must be some vague jealousy lurking in the heart of that ardent woman. I can't figure it out.”
”I'd like to see her again,” remarked Kennedy. ”Will you ask her if I may?”
CHAPTER x.x.xVI
THE ENDS OF JUSTICE
A few minutes later we were in the sitting room of her suite. She received us rather ungraciously, I thought.
”Do you feel any better?” asked Kennedy.
”No,” she replied curtly. ”Excuse me for a moment. I wish to see that maid of mine. Clarisse!”
She had hardly left the room when Kennedy was on his feet. The bottle of white tablets, nearly empty, was still on the table. I saw him take some very fine white powder and dust it quickly over the bottle. It seemed to adhere, and from his pocket he quickly drew a piece of what seemed to be specially prepared paper, laid it over the bottle where the powder adhered, fitting it over the curves. He withdrew it quickly, for outside we heard her light step, returning. I am sure she either saw or suspected that Kennedy had been touching the bottle of tablets, for there was a look of startled fear on her face.
”Then you do not feel like continuing the tests we abandoned last night?” asked Kennedy, apparently not noticing her look.
”No, I do not,” she almost snapped. ”You--you are detectives. Mrs.
Hazleton has sent you.”
”Indeed, Mrs. Hazleton has not sent us,” insisted Kennedy, never for an instant showing his surprise at her mention of the name.
”You are. You can tell her, you can tell everybody. I'll tell--I'll tell myself. I won't wait. That child is mine--mine--not hers. Now--go!”
Veronica Haversham on the stage never towered in a fit of pa.s.sion as she did now in real life, as her ungovernable feelings broke forth tempestuously on us.
I was astounded, bewildered at the revelation, the possibilities in those simple words, ”The child is mine.” For a moment I was stunned.
Then as the full meaning dawned on me I wondered in a flood of consciousness whether it was true. Was it the product of her drug-disordered brain? Had her desperate love for Hazleton produced a hallucination?
Kennedy, silent, saw that the case demanded quick action. I shall never forget the breathless ride down from the sanitarium to the Hazleton house on Riverside Drive.
”Mrs. Hazleton,” he cried, as we hurried in, ”you will pardon me for this unceremonious intrusion, but it is most important. May I trouble you to place your fingers on this paper--so?”
He held out to her a piece of the prepared paper. She looked at him once, then saw from his face that he was not to be questioned. Almost tremulously she did as he said, saying not a word. I wondered whether she knew the story of Veronica, or whether so far only hints of it had been brought to her.
”Thank you,” he said quickly. ”Now, if I may see Morton?”
It was the first time we had seen the baby about whom the rapidly thickening events were crowding. He was a perfect specimen of well-cared-for, scientific infant.
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