“Oh, no. I gave her a dreadful fright, that was all. She found me in my room last night in a dead faint.”
“Great Heavens!” bending toward her much alarmed. “My dearest—what—”
“I am all right now; my fainting was caused by a shock. I made a terrible discovery. But before I tell you about it, you must give me your solemn word of honor not to repeat what it was.”
Dick gave her the desired promise; then he listened with growing amazement to her account of finding the broken hat-pin in the box Beatrice had entrusted to her care. He drew a long breath when she finished.
“Rosamond’s Bower can’t be mentioned in the same breath with this Trevor maze,” he said. “This discovery of yours, Peggy, certainly complicates matters more than ever.”
She looked at him with troubled eyes, and her lips quivered as she answered: “Indeed, Dick, I cannot think Beatrice knew anything of this fearful murder, or that she is implicated in any way in it.”
“Of course not, Peggy,” returned Dick, soothingly, but there was doubt, black doubt, in his heart. He remembered the quarrel Wilkins overheard. “Don’t you think the simpler way to find out would be to go and ask her!”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” wailed Peggy, wringing her hands. “And I would not hurt her now when she is in such trouble, by letting her think I have doubted her, and had betrayed her trust. She would be sure to jump to that conclusion. Dick,” with sudden energy, “you have just got to clear her. Think of the suffering of a proud, delicately reared, and lovable girl being under the stigma of murder. It would kill her.”
“I’ll do my very best, Peggy,” declared Dick, stoutly. “I do not need your urging. Remember all that is at stake for me.”
A bright blush dyed Peggy’s pale cheeks, and she hastened to change the subject.