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Updated: May 24, 2025
Pargeter fumbled at the brass-headed pin; he pulled it out, and a drawer which filled up the side of the davenport shot out. Yes, here were more packets inscribed with the words, "Jasper's letters, written at school," and then others, "To be returned to Laurence Vanderlyn in case of my death;" and two or three loose letters. "Well, these won't tell us anything, eh, Grid?"
Seeing Pargeter there before him, Laurence Vanderlyn, for the first time in his life, learned what so many men and women learn very early in their lives, what it is to be afraid of a person, who, however despicable, is, or may become, your tyrant. Hitherto his relations with Peggy's husband, though nothing to be proud of, had brought with them nothing of conscious shame.
She was telling herself that she owed the fact of Vanderlyn's visit to some slight hitch in the plan in which she had been persuaded to play the part of an accomplice; she felt that Margaret Pargeter ought not to have subjected her to an interview with her lover. Vanderlyn reddened. He felt suddenly angered. Madame de Léra's manner was insulting, not only to him, but but to Mrs.
This was why, even while telling himself that he had at last found a way in which to convey the truth to Pargeter, he felt a deep repugnance from the methods which he saw he would be compelled to employ.
Of course, it isn't much good my going over to England now; but I won't stay in Paris, I'll get away, right away for a bit, on the yacht, and take some of the crowd with me." No one ever knew the truth. To the Prefect of Police the mystery of the disappearance of Mrs. Pargeter is still unsolved unsolvable.
"No," said Vanderlyn shortly. "Mr. Pargeter is still in Paris." "Is it a friend of Mr. Pargeter who is speaking?" There was a long pause, then, "Yes," said Vanderlyn. "Will you, Monsieur, kindly inform your friend," said the voice, shaking with a ripple of light laughter, "that Mademoiselle de la Tour de Nesle has something very urgent to say to him?" "Mr.
So it was that Mrs. Pargeter had never fallen into the ranks of those women who become the occasion for even good-natured gossip.
He was taken upstairs and shown into the drawing-room, and it was there that Pargeter joined him, leaving Vanderlyn for the first time alone. The American lay back in the rocking-chair in which he had been sitting forward listening to the other's unconnected talk. What a relief, what an immense sense of sobbing relief came over his weary senses, aye, even his weary limbs!
It must be his fate to live, not die; he must live in order to safeguard the honour of Margaret Pargeter, the beloved woman who had trusted him wholly, not only in this, which was to have been their supreme adventure, but during the whole of their long, almost wordless love.
Vanderlyn was by nature a truthful man, and in spite of the ambiguous nature of his relations with Margaret Pargeter, he had never been compelled to lie in defence of their friendship. Even during these last few days, he had as far as was possible avoided untruth, and only to one person, that is, to the Prefect of Police, had he lied lied desperately, and lied successfully.
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