The group gazed at Mrs. De Peyster's face. A murmur of sympathy and understanding ran among them.
"In her hysterical condition," continued Mr. Pyecroft, "she had but one thought, and that was to get home as quickly as she could. She crossed to England, sailed on the Mauretania, kept to her stateroom, and arrived here at the house heavily veiled about an hour ago. I may add the details that she sailed under the name of Miss Harriman and that her trunks are now at the Cunard pier. There you have the entire story, gentlemen."
He looked down at Mrs. De Peyster. "I believe I have stated the matter just as you outlined it to us?"
"Ye—yes," breathed Mrs. De Peyster.
"There is no detail you would like to add?"
"N—none," breathed Mrs. De Peyster.
"Then, gentlemen," said Mr. Pyecroft, turning to the reporters, "since you have all the facts, and since Mrs. De Peyster is in a state bordering on collapse, we would take it as a favor if—"
"No need to dismiss us," put in Mr. Mayfair. "We're in a bigger hurry to leave than you are to have us go. God, boys," he ejaculated to his fellows, "what a peach of a story!"
In a twinkling Mr. Mayfair and his fellows of the press had vanished, each in the direction of a telephone over which he could hurry this super-sensation into his office.