what a pity!” she exclaimed. “Real colonial, isn’t it! I wish I could see the rooms inside before it is disturbed. Such doors and such dear old-fashioned mantelpieces as it must have! I just dote on the Colonial. It brings up such pictures of the old days; weddings, you know, and parties;—all so different from ours and so much more interesting.”
Is it the chance shot that tells? Sometimes. Violet had no especial intention in what she said save as a prelude to a pending request, but nothing could have served her purpose better than that one word, wedding. The agent laughed and giving her his first indulgent look, remarked genially:
“Romance is not confined to those ancient times. If you were to enter that house to-day you would come across evidences of a wedding as romantic as any which ever took place in all the seventy odd years of its existence. A man and a woman were married there day before yesterday who did their first courting under its roof forty years ago. He has been married twice and she once in the interval; but the old love held firm and now at the age of sixty and over they have come together to finish their days in peace and happiness. Or so we will hope.”
“Married! married in that house and on the day that—”
She caught herself up in time. He did not notice the break.
“Yes, in memory of those old days of courtship, I suppose. They came here about five, got the keys, drove off, went through the ceremony in that empty house, returned the keys to me in my own apartment, took the steamer for Naples, and were on the sea before midnight. Do you not call that quick work as well as highly romantic?”
“Very.” Miss Strange’s cheek had paled. It was apt to when she was greatly excited. “But I don’t understand,” she added, the moment after. “How could they do this and nobody know about it? I should have thought it would have got into the papers.”
“They are quiet people. I don’t think they told their best friends. A simple announcement in the next day’s journals testified to the fact of their marriage, but that was all. I would not have felt at liberty to mention the circumstances myself, if the parties were not well on their way to Europe.”
“Oh, how glad I am that you did tell me! Such a story of constancy and the hold which old associations have upon sensitive minds! But—”
“Why, Miss? What’s the matter? You look very much disturbed.”
“Don’t you remember? Haven’t you thought? Something else happened that very day and almost at the same time on that block. Something very dreadful—”
“Mrs. Doolittle’s murder?”
“Yes. It was as near as next door, wasn’t it? Oh, if this happy couple had known—”
“But fortunately they didn’t. Nor are they likely to, till they reach the other side. You needn’t fear that their honeymoon will be spoiled that way.”
“But they may have heard something or seen something before leaving the street. Did you notice how the gentleman looked when he returned you the keys?”
“I did, and there was no cloud on his satisfaction.”
“Oh, how you relieve me!” One—two dimples made their appearance in Miss Strange’s fresh, young cheeks. “Well! I wish them joy. Do you mind telling me their names? I cannot think of them as actual persons without knowing their names.”
“The gentleman was Constantin Amidon; the lady, Marian Shaffer. You will have to think of them now as Mr. and Mrs. Amidon.”
“And I will. Thank you, Mr. Hutton, thank you very much. Next to the pleasure of getting the house for my friend, is that of hearing this charming bit of news its connection.”
She held out her hand and, as he took it, remarked:
“They must have had a clergyman and witnesses.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“I wish I had been one of the witnesses,” she sighed sentimentally.
“They were two old men.”
“Oh, no! Don’t tell me that.”
“Fogies; nothing less.”
“But the clergyman? He must have been young. Surely there was some one there capable of appreciating the situation?”
“I can’t say about that; I did not see the clergyman.”
“Oh, well! it doesn’t matter.” Miss Strange’s manner was as nonchalant as it was charming. “We will think of him as being very young.”
And with a merry toss of her head she flitted away.
But she sobered very rapidly upon entering her limousine.
“Hello!”
“Ah, is that you?”
“Yes, I want a Marconi sent.”
“A Marconi?”
“Yes, to the Cretic, which left dock the very night in which we are so deeply interested.”
“Good. Whom to? The Captain?”
“No, to a Mrs. Constantin Amidon. But first be sure there is such a passenger.”
“Mrs.! What idea have you there?”
“Excuse my not stating over the telephone. The message is to be to this effect. Did she at any time immediately before or after her marriage to Mr. Amidon get a glimpse of any one in the adjoining house? No remarks, please. I use the telephone because I am not ready to explain myself. If she did, let her send a written description to you of that person as soon as she reaches the Azores.”
“You surprise me. May I not call or hope for a line from you early to-morrow?”
“I shall be busy till you get your answer.”
He hung up the receiver. He recognized the resolute tone.
But the time came when the pending explanation was fully given to him. An answer had been returned from the steamer, favourable to Violet’s hopes. Mrs. Amidon had seen such a person and would send a full description of the same at the first opportunity. It was news to fill Violet’s heart with pride; the filament of a clue which had led to this great result had been so nearly invisible and had felt so like nothing in her grasp.
To her employer she described it as follows:
“When I hear or read of a case which contains any baffling features, I am apt to feel some hidden chord in my nature thrill to one fact in it and not to any of the others. In this case the single fact which appealed to my imagination was the dropping of the stolen wallet in that upstairs room. Why did the guilty man drop it? and why, having dropped it, did he not pick it up again? but one answer seemed possible. He had heard or seen something at the spot where it fell which not only alarmed him but sent him in flight from the house.”
“Very good; and did you settle to
