“No, why should I? A girl, riding with her beau, left it here in lieu of a fine for speeding. She, or rather her escort, Captain Nichols, will redeem it tomorrow.”
“I see,” the stranger stared in deep astonishment at the Justice. “If it isn’t breaking a confidence, can you give me the young woman’s name?”
“Sure,” the Justice rapidly ran his finger down the open ledger. “Miss Marjorie Langdon, 910 Thirteenth Street, Washington.”
“Miss Marjorie Langdon,” repeated the stranger; then roused himself. “Much obliged, sir, good evening.” And he hastily left the room and entered his limousine. “Home, François,” he directed; then as the lights of Hyattsville disappeared in the distance, he confided his reflections to the flower-filled glass vase. “What in the devil’s name was Miss Marjorie Langdon doing with my daughter’s bracelet in her possession?”
CHAPTER XIII
DUNCAN’S DILEMMA
Pauline Calhoun-Cooper laid down her embroidery with a resigned sigh as her brother, after striding moodily up and down the drawing-room, made a sudden dash for the door.
“Where are you going, Joe?” she called.
“Out——” and the front door banged shut behind him.
Pauline’s lips curved in an irritating smile. “Your ‘poy Joe’ gets more impossible every day, mother. I think father had better be told——”
“No you don’t, young lady,” Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper spoke with unwonted authority. “I won’t permit any further interference.”