“You found her?” said Stone, as the trio came into the study, where he and Lockwood still sat.
“Yes,” said Fibsy. “I just thought where would a poor, hunted kid go? And I said to myself, she’d go to the nearest and nicest lady’s house she knew of. And of course, that was Mrs. Bates’ and sure enough there she was. And—she’s going to tell all!”
Fibsy was melodramatic by nature, and his gesture indicated an important revelation.
“I am,” said Anita, quietly.
She went straight to Lockwood’s side, and he took her hand calmly, and led her to a seat on the wide davenport, then sat beside her.
Her hand still in his, she told her story.
“I am of Truesdell blood,” she began, “as Mr. Trask surmised. But, also, I am of Waring blood. Doctor John Waring was my father.”
No one spoke. The surprise was too great. In his wildest theories, Fleming Stone had never thought of this.
Fibsy’s great astonishment was permeated with the quick conviction, “then she didn’t kill him!”
Gordon Lockwood was conscious of a rapturous reassurance that he had no rival as a lover.