“I was simply horrified. I had no doubt whatever that the pin had been used to murder my stepmother. I knew I had left it in the private office on that Wednesday afternoon when I took off my coat and hat there. I went to the office to write a note to Peggy, which I gave to Mrs. Macallister in the parlor later on. I thought,” she glanced appealingly at Gordon, “that the guilty man had dropped the pin in the vestibule; for it must have caught in my dress when I let go of my train to insert my latch key and open the front door.
“I reasoned that the police would never believe my explanation if they found the pin in my possession, unless I told them the story of my quarrel with Mrs. Trevor, and of our marriage, Don. I knew Peggy was coming to see me, and made up my mind to ask her to keep the pasteboard box for me. You already know what took place on my return from the ball by my testimony at the inquest,” continued Beatrice. “When I heard Mrs. Trevor had been murdered, I thought Don had come to the house that night and had killed her in a moment of ungovernable rage. Can you ever forgive me, dear?” clasping his hand in both of hers.
“There can be no question of that,” said Gordon passionately. “You had every cause to doubt me. Mine was the fault. I have acted like a blind, crazy idiot. Listen: when in London some four years ago, I met Hélène de Beaupré and became very much infatuated with her. Well, she made a fool of me, as she did of others. One day, tired of having me around, she dismissed me. That ended the affair as far as I was concerned.”
“Just a moment,” interrupted Dick. “Did Alfred Clark see you and Hélène at the Home Office applying for a special license?”
If he had exploded a bomb under their noses, he could not have created a greater disturbance. Gordon sat up as if he had been shot, gazing incredulously at Dick.
“Great Heavens!” he ejaculated. “What an accomplished liar Clark is! And yet, this fabrication has a foundation of truth. He did see us in the Home Office talking to the clerk in charge of special licenses. We were waiting there for Sam Peters. You remember him, don’t you?” Dick nodded. “Sam was to be married at noon. He knew no one in London, nor did his American bride-elect, except Hélène and myself. He asked me to be his best man, and Hélène to act as a witness. He had to procure his special license, so we agreed to meet him at the Home Office and go with him to the church. Sam will verify what I am telling you, if you care to ask him.”
“No, no, Don, I’ll take your word for it,” said Dick, hastily.
“Beatrice has just told you of our marriage,” continued Gordon. “I never knew until your theater party, Dick, which you gave on the night of my arrival here, that Beatrice’s stepmother and Hélène de Beaupré were one and the same person. Beatrice always spoke of her as ‘Mrs. Trevor.’ Mrs. Trevor greeted me that night as a stranger, and of course I took my cue from her. In the days that followed she must have seen how deeply and passionately I loved Beatrice, for she hinted as much to me. Then she told me that she had a package of my foolish, extravagant letters written years ago.
“‘I never throw anything away that might be of possible use,’ she went on. ‘Do you think the Attorney General would look with favor on your suit for his daughter’s hand if he saw those letters?’
“I stared at her aghast, as the whole horrible situation flashed over me. What in Heaven’s name was I to do? I should have confided everything to you then, my darling, but no man likes to speak of past love affairs, no matter how innocent, to his bride.