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Updated: June 12, 2025
"Hello, Gwen!" said Ann Veronica, trying to put every one at their ease. "Been and married?... What's the name of the happy man?" Gwen owned to "Fortescue." "Got a photograph of him or anything?" said Ann Veronica, after kissing her mother. Gwen made an inquiry, and, directed by Mrs. Stanley, produced a portrait from its hiding-place in the jewel-drawer under the mirror.
Maud had her tiny card-case, and paid calls, "like mamma and Fan"; her box of dainty gloves, her jewel-drawer, her crimping-pins, as fine and fanciful a wardrobe as a Paris doll, and a French maid to dress her.
She was braced to defiance. "Where is that other letter?" he said. "I have destroyed it." She uttered the words with quivering triumph, strung to a fever-pitch of excitement in which fear had no part. His eyes went to her jewel-drawer. "It is not there," she said. "The letter I hid there was the one you have just read." She spoke rapidly, but she was no longer incoherent.
The more he thought of it the more absolutely certain he was that he had fastened the door before leaving the house. True, the latch was only an ordinary one, and a key might easily have been made to fit it. As a matter of fact, David had two, one in reserve in case of accidents. The other was usually kept in a jewel-drawer of the dressing-table. Perhaps David went quietly upstairs.
It was just possible that the murderer was in the house. But the closest search brought nothing to light. He pulled out the jewel-drawer in the dressing-table. The spare latchkey had gone! Here was something to go upon. Then there was a rumbling of an electric bell somewhere that set David's heart beating like a drum.
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