“Templeton Druid was,” she laid stress upon the word, a stress unnoticed by Marjorie, although Elinor shivered in her mother’s clasp, “an actor—the most popular leading man on Broadway, and a friend of Elinor’s and Howard’s. Elinor knew you would never consent to her going to the party, so she told you she was going to the Thurstons’.”
“I—I know,” Marjorie murmured. “I telephoned the Thurstons at twelve-thirty.” She closed her eyes as if to shut out the memory of the shock she had received.
“She spent the early part of the evening,” Geraldine continued, “with Rosebud Greeley, and then went to Mr. Druid’s apartment.”
“Oh, my dear! My dear!” Marjorie wailed. “Go on, please, Mrs. DeLacy.”
“Howard happened to know where Elinor was going, and disapproved of it. He had spent the evening with Nell Thurston, and after seeing her home, went downtown to the club, where he imbibed rather freely with some of the boys. He happened to overhear a conversation concerning Elinor and Druid, which enraged him past endurance. He jumped in a taxi and went directly to Druid’s apartment——”
“Oh—mother—mother—” Elinor clutched her wildly. “I can’t bear it. Why—why——”
“Hush, darling,” Marjorie patted her head, “I must hear the rest.”
“When Howard arrived,” went on Mrs. DeLacy as though repeating a carefully rehearsed lesson, “a wild party was on, which only went toward confirming the things he had heard. A furious scene followed—and a—a fist battle. In the midst of which Druid pulled a revolver out of his pocket—Howard managed to secure it. There was a shot and Druid fell to the floor!” Geraldine dramatically turned her eyes as she reached her climax as though too tender-hearted to witness the mother’s despair. But underneath the lids that veiled her eyes, there was gloating.
“Oh—No! No!” Marjorie felt the iron hand closing tighter around her heart. It was crushing it. “He didn’t—kill—him?”
“Instantly!”